


Colour Me Beautiful

by lovemyway (vesper93)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Communication, Dom/sub, Dominance, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Intercrural Sex, Kink, Kink Negotiation, Leather Kink, M/M, Orgasm Control, Power Play, Recovery, Sadness, Secrets, Sensation Play, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Subdrop, Submission, Tension, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-09-17 03:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper93/pseuds/lovemyway
Summary: There is light in everybody, but there is also a darkness. A person can take another to heaven and beyond, but they can also create a private hell.There is a side to Oliver that Elio desperately wants to know about, to be part of. Will Oliver let himself be free with the boy who he found in Italy, that one heady summer? Then again, there's a new side to Elio as well, one that he hopes he can turn to Oliver to help him heal.





	1. Tease Them

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I think the tags give away exactly what this story is going to be about. 
> 
> Basically, I've wanted to write a good BDSM fic about Elio/Oliver for ages, and so I finally decided to put ink to screen. The tags will expand as the story does, so keep an eye on them if you're worried about anything in particular. This will not just be porn and nothing else (although, of course, they'll be plenty of that in there!). There will be a story here as well! 
> 
> I'd also like your input on this story, certainly in terms of ideas of what you'd like to see in this fic. I'd love to work more closely with some of the amazing writers out there! I'm also looking for a beta reader for this fic - not sure how this works in practice? Any tips from more experienced users? 
> 
> Other notes:  
> \- I want to be as accurate as possible at depicting this lifestyle, so any good resources you know of I'd be grateful if you could point me towards them *for research purposes*.  
> \- Second, I will not be publishing anymore of this story until at least one of 'Above All Else' or 'Into Darkness' is finished. Having two stories on the go is hard enough, I'm not going to add a third active to the mix. Just know that this is on the back burner and it is... coming. Pun firmly intended. 
> 
> This is just the teaser. 
> 
> As always, all my love. 
> 
> V  
> xxx

‘You don’t understand what it would mean, what you’re asking me. You’re too young, too inexperienced,’ he said, resting his hands on the island, the hand towel he'd been using earlier just on the top beside him.

‘I’m not too young to know I want you. I’m not too inexperienced to know that what we have is precious, is rare. Too rare for me to just let it go. That’s why I crossed an ocean to come to you. I couldn’t just walk away from it; and I know that you can't either.’

Oliver pulled in a breath, trying to ignore the stab in his gut. He was so glad that the younger boy had crossed that ocean, had overcome the pain of being left on the platform, and refused to accept that that was the end. The joy he had felt when he’d opened his door… but what the boy was asking of him was impossible. He couldn’t do it. The boy needed to know more of the world before he even thought about something like that. 

He leaned heavily on the kitchen counter he was stood behind. He was glad of it, because it was creating a physical barrier between the pair of them. It was stopping him – just about – from approaching the boy currently lying on the sofa in his breakfast room. He sighed.

‘You know I’m right,’ said Elio, after he didn’t reply. His long, beautiful, piano-playing fingers were sprawled next to his lip, just teasing the edge of that pink skin. His eyes were staring directly into Oliver’s; daring him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

‘No, I don’t know anything of the sort,’ said Oliver, but even he could hear the waver in his voice.

A smirk crept across Elio’s face, teasing the edge of those fingers.

God, the boy was being such a brat. If he did what Elio was asking of him, then he’d be taking the boy to task for pushing all of these boundaries. How would he do it, though? Maybe by laying the boy over his lap, making him count as he spanked him. But would it be over his jeans, or on his creamy bare skin? 

Oliver shook himself, he had to stop thinking about that if he was going to maintain a modicum of control over this situation.

'No,' he said, straightening up and turning away from the boy, 'And that's the end of it.' 

 


	2. We Didn't Start The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how a phone call can change your life. For it to happen once is enough, but for Oliver, could it be about to happen twice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I said I wouldn't update this until I'd finished either AAE or ID, but I got itchy... keyboard fingers? Is that a thing? Anyway, I wrote the first chapter! With absolutely zero kinkiness in it - sorry guys! 
> 
> I think the first few chapters of this story are going to be from Oliver's point of view, as we explore his backstory a little bit and understand how he got to where he is. But we shall see, as you can see, my ideas change a lot! :P Be warned, I don't spend a lot of time pontificating in this one about Oliver's ex-fiancee, or his family. Oliver felt something for Elio that put everything else in the shade; he made up his mind to not settle for anything other than that feeling again. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this first little bit! 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'We Didn't Start The Fire' by Billy Joel
> 
> xxx

The phone was nearly ringing off the hook as Oliver hurried down the last few stairs from the second floor, still rubbing a towel through his hair to prevent it dripping too much on the wooden floor.

‘Alright, alright, I’m coming!’ he said to no one in particular as he jogged the last few steps to the telephone table and picked it up quickly.

‘Hello?’ he said into the receiver, trying to sound as if he wasn’t out of breath. He absently looked at the diary beside the telephone as he stood there, towel in hand. The little book reminded him that he had a meeting with his publisher at 2pm. He already knew that, but he’d forgotten that they weren’t meeting in the usual place due to renovations at the publishing house.

‘Oliver, is that you?’ came the voice on the other end of the line, sounding rather distant, Oliver’s mind instantly focusing back on the not-quite-anonymous caller.

‘Pro?’ he asked as he recognised the voice, surprised, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline. It had been a while since Samuel Perlman had rung him; normally they conversed via letter, thus avoiding navigating the seven hour time difference.

‘Yes, yes,’ said the voice on the other end rather shortly, ‘Is Elio with you?’

‘What?’ asked Oliver, amazed at the question, and the abruptness of it, ‘Why would he be with me?’

‘Oh fuck,’ came Pro’s voice, worry and hurt laced into his words, ‘He’s gone missing; we don’t know where he is!’

‘What?’ asked Oliver again, unsure of what he was hearing, ‘Gone missing? Where from? How long ago?’

‘His dorm in Rome, from the Conservatoire’ said Pro, ‘No note, no nothing. He was due back for the holidays this morning, and he didn’t show up at the station when Annella went to pick him up. At first we thought he’d just missed the train, so she waited for the next one, but he wasn’t on that either. That was twelve hours ago, and we’ve not heard anything since.’

‘Fuck,’ said Oliver, echoing Pro’s earlier statement, ‘Where could he have gone?’

‘We don’t know!’ said Pro, ‘He’s not mentioned anything about anyone in particular; no girlfriend or partner to speak of, he’s not going on a musical camp like he did in January... Which is why we thought of you.’

Oliver made a noise of agreement on the phone, his mind would have wandered over to himself as well if he was being perfectly honest.

‘Do you think he would do that?’ asked Oliver, his voice soft, trying to imagine what the other boy was thinking.

‘Possibly,’ said Pro, and Oliver could almost hear the worry in his voice, paired with resignation, ‘He has been missing you something terribly Oliver.’

Oliver paused, unsure of what to say to this statement. He knew that it was true, and it made him deeply uncomfortable.

‘But why now?’ asked Oliver, ‘If he has decided to try and visit me?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Pro, ‘I know he’s had a job for the past couple of months, alongside his studies, so perhaps he’s finally saved up enough for the flight. Thinking that we wouldn’t notice if it didn’t come out of the money we give him to live on.’

‘Sounds like something Elio would do,’ said Oliver, trying to suppress the grin in his voice; Elio could be pig-headedly stubborn at times, particularly about things like this.

‘Yes,’ said Pro quietly, ‘I know my son.’

There was a moment of silence as Oliver considered those words, left hanging on the line.

‘Just, look out for him would you Oliver?’ said Pro, his voice laced with worry, ‘You never know, he might show up there. He knows your address because of the letters.’

‘Yes,’ said Oliver, ‘Yes, of course I will. I’ll let you know straight away if he appears. Please let me know if he turns up there as well. I’ll be worrying otherwise.’

‘Yes, we will’ said Pro, ‘Thank you, Oliver.’

‘Don’t worry Pro,’ said Oliver, trying to sound more sure than he felt, ‘I’m sure he’s just gone off for a few days. He’ll be alright; you’ll see.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Pro, ‘I know he’s a very curious and collected boy, always goes where the wind takes him. But he is only just eighteen; I worry about him.’

‘Yeah,’ said Oliver in agreement, ‘Me too.’

‘Well, keep in touch?’ said Pro, ‘Especially if you hear anything from Elio.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Oliver, nodding vehemently, even though Pro couldn’t see that.

‘Bye Oliver,’ said Pro.

Oliver said goodbye as well, before he heard the click of the receiver on the other end. He held the phone to his ear for a moment more, before slowly putting it back down on it’s cradle.

So Elio had gone missing. God, he hoped he was alright. Had the little brat just gone a joyride somewhere, or had he actually gone _missing_ missing? He figured that Pro and Annella would give him another twelve hours or so, making it twenty-four since he was supposed to have been at the station, before they raised the alarm. He hoped that Elio would get in touch with them before then; they didn’t need that worry, and they didn’t deserve it. He hoped he wasn’t in any danger. He felt suddenly helpless, wishing there was something he could do; but he was thousands of miles away from Italy, and even if he went there he would just be a spare part. No, better to sit tight, and see if there was any news. Then, if somehow he did find anything out, he could let Pro and Annella know from him.

He absently rubbed the towel he was holding through his hair again, before coming to his senses. He was standing absolutely stark naked in his hallway, having rushed out of the bathroom to answer the phone, the second time it rang. The first time he had actually been _in_ the shower, and had figured they would ring back if it were anything important. So, the second time it rang within ten minutes, he thought he better answer it, and had hotfooted it downstairs in order to get it before it rang out.

It was a good thing his hallway didn’t have any windows, other than the frosted panes in the large door. He glanced at the clock hanging to the side of the large mirror. He better get a move on; it was coming up to 10am, when his cleaner Violet normally arrived. He’d give her the fright of her life if she walked in to find him standing _aux naturale_ in the hallway. She was a nice older lady from the village about twenty minutes drive away from here. She did a wonderful job of keeping the house (and him) in order. He didn’t want to lose her services by offending her sensibilities. He turned on his heel and headed back up the stairs two at a time, and into the large master bedroom at the end of the corridor.

Not for the first time he thought that this house was far too large for him, and wondered what on earth he was going to do to fill all the rooms. After his father had died at the end of the summer, and his mother had moved out and upstate to be near his sister, he’d been left the country house, filled with memories of his childhood and young adulthood.

He remembered standing in the doorway after the lawyer had given him the key, once the will had been settled, and immediately feeling overwhelmed. His father had been supposed to live for at least another twenty years, but a sudden stroke had done for him, and now Oliver was the owner of the family pile.

He’d immediately set about renovating. He didn't want the place to look a scrap like it had done when he was growing up. Not because he’d had a particularly unhappy childhood here, but more because whilst it was in its former state it didn’t feel like _his_. He hadn’t moved into the master bedroom until it had been completely ripped out and redone, instead sleeping in his old childhood room. He didn’t want to feel as if he were sleeping in his parents bedroom when he was in the master. That would just be odd. The renovation had started six months ago, and now as the spring was finally creeping in through the frozen New England ground, it actually felt like this house might be somewhere that he would want to stay, despite its size.

And now there was Elio; his name hurtling back into his life like a cannonball out of the blue. It felt like a punch to the stomach at the same time as a tug in his chest. _Elio, Elio, Elio._ The boy he had loved for those heady few weeks last summer, in that stolen paradise that was that slip of the Northern Italian coast. Of course, he hadn’t just loved him for those few weeks. He had kept loving him after he left; seeing him everywhere, in the way in which someone moved their hand, or voiced an opinion, or if he heard a piece of Bach or Liszt being played. They all reminded him of Elio. He told himself that it would become less obvious, and hurt less, the more time went by. And it did. Like a wound that oh so slowly knits itself together, but still makes itself known frequently as it pulls on the surrounding skin. And of course there is always a scar.

He’d rung the Perlmans at Hanukkah, and heard his voice for the first time in four months. That had been a mistake. It had pulled open the wound again, and pushed hurting fingers into the tender soft flesh and tissue of the memories. He had felt like a wounded animal as Elio had said his name down the line, forcing him to whisper it back. He had wanted to yelp out his pain, and crawl away somewhere to heal, away from the source of any further hurt. Because it did, it hurt to talk to Elio, and to know what he had left behind, what he had been foolish enough to do. God, he missed him. He missed him so much.

That conversation at Hanukkah, as short as it was, had been enough to make him tear his personal life in two. He had told Elio he was to marry. Well that wasn’t the case anymore. After hearing that voice, and picturing that wonderful boy, he knew that he couldn’t go through with it. It would just end up destroying him, and destroying Eloise. It wasn’t fair on either of them. So he’d broken it off. His mother had been furious at him, but he’d deflected her screeches of misery and annoyance. Eloise had been upset, of course, they’d been on and off for years, and it had seemed only the natural conclusion that he would, at some point, marry her. But he didn’t love her, not like he did Elio. And he couldn’t bring himself to be anything less to someone than what he was with Elio, even if it meant never being anything to anyone else ever again. He was prepared to lick at his wounds and wait, until he found someone who he would be willing to let hurt him all over again. He wanted someone who imprinted themselves of his body and mind the way Elio had; and for someone to surrender themselves fully to him, to hold nothing back, just the way Elio had.

And then, of course, there was the other side to him; the side that he had put away when he had resigned himself to a life with Eloise after he had finished college. He had pushed all of that into a box, and turned the key in the lock, knowing that none of that would be acceptable to his new wife, or to his new station in life. He was to be grown-up, respectable; to live as a professor and his wife. That was who he should be.

But then he had forced the change. And over the past few months he had, very slowly, been allowing that side of his back out of the box in which he had locked it. He had allowed himself to pursue a few of his more desperate desires, the side of himself that he had always been at war with. For the past few months he had been free; with no family expectation or future wife to please, he had been able to gently push at that side of himself that he had discovered when he was in college. It thrilled him; it delighted him; it made him feel alive. And of course it turned him on, no end.

What he had explored in college, and all the things he had experienced of the course of three years and more, had left him in no doubt as to who and what he was. Of course that didn’t mean he had been unable to suppress it when he had made the decision to shape his life the way his family had always wanted him to. He had suppressed it; stored it away. But then, then he’d heard that voice on the phone, and something in him had stirred, had raised its head, and made him realise what he could be about to lose. He could be about to lose himself completely, and everything that made him… _him_.

So he’d changed his decision. And rather than locking everything that made him him into  a box, to be put away in the back of cupboard, and only looked at when he was feeling particularly nostalgic, he had allowed himself to slip the key into the lock and once again open it. It was if he was Pandora and he was setting himself free with that decision. A decision that would not have happened if he hadn’t been reminded of that voice.

Which brought him back to Elio. The little brat that was now causing his parents panic, and had somehow brought him back into the mix, when he was sure that the whole family must think of him with disdain. He knew why Pro had thought to call him; he was one of the obvious choices, once tardiness and more local friends had been asked and exhausted.

He wondered if the boy really was on his way here. And more to the point, if he was; what the hell would he do with him when he got here?


	3. This Must Be The Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning about Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't leave this story alone... 
> 
> Okay, so there's quite a lot of information in this one (again), but I didn't want to spend too long going over things, hence trying to pack it all in! 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'This Must Be The Place' by Talking Heads

Oliver supposed that it had happened gradually. It wasn’t something that he set out to find, but it was something that once he did find it, he realised that he was likely to find himself in the process as well. That was what attracted him to it, there was something about it that just seemed… right. It wasn’t something that he knew a lot about before college, but when, during his second semester, he got into a relationship with a girl, Sarah, several years older than him, who asked him to tie up her up and blindfold her during sex, that’s when it started. At first, he’d been slightly taken aback by the request; not shocked exactly, just apprehensive about it. It wasn’t something he’d ever done before. Before that point the wildest he’d ever gotten in sex was doggy style, or sex in the shower with his high school girlfriend. He hadn’t agreed to it the first time that she’d asked, because the way she’d spoken about it suggested that she wanted something more than just a tie around her wrists attached to the bedhead whilst he went down on her.

So, he’d asked her to show him what she wanted, before he returned the favour. She’d agreed to it enthusiastically, happy that he was open to the idea. Later that week when they’d had sex, she’d spoken to him about the need for him to pick a safeword before they started. As he’d never done this before, he hadn’t given it much thought, so she’d suggested that they went with traffic lights; red, yellow, and green. He’d agreed, and she’d blindfolded him, tied him up, and shown him a side of sex that he’d never experienced before. It had blown his mind. The sensations he felt whilst some of his senses were taken away had given him one of the best orgasms he’d ever had, and he couldn’t wait to see how responsive she would be when he did the same thing to her.

Afterwards, he’d had questions. She had refused to talk about it whilst they were still coming down from the high of sex, and had suggested that they go out for lunch. They’d got dressed and headed to a café down the road which had booths so they could have a relatively private conversation. It helped that it was always really busy, so it was unlikely that anyone would be able to overhear them anyway.

So, they’d talked. He’d asked the questions whirring around his brain; how did she find out about it? Was there more? When could he try? She’d said that she was something called a “switch,” but that she generally preferred to take a submissive role in bed. He’d obviously heard of the idea of Dominants and submissives before, but has always associated them with extreme kink, leather, and sadomasochism. She’d laughed and said that it could be like, but that it generally wasn’t, and that there was an entire spectrum of kink that people could explore. He’d asked whether it was something she’d been into before, and she’d said that she’d been introduced to it by a professor, older than she was by some way, when she was doing her undergraduate degree. At first, he’d balked slightly at the idea of someone twenty years older introducing her to this, but she’d explained how he’d asked her about every single step; everything had been communicated, explained, and agreed upon, before anything happened. She’d said that that was the absolute key to _any_ of this; that everything must be talked about before anything happened. He’d said that that didn’t sound all that sexy, surely talking about it was slightly exhausting? What about surprise, and excitement? There could still be surprised and excitement, she’d said, mentioning the fact that they’d just had some of the best sex that Oliver had ever had; but that they’d talked about exactly what they were going to do beforehand, to check that he was okay with it. She’d asked whether it was something that he’d like to explore further with her, and he immediately agreed. She was right, it _was_ exciting, and he was excited to be the one to tie her up, to blindfold her, and to make her feel things that would drive her wild.

That was how it had started. For the next six months, she gradually introduced him to this world that he’d come to love, that filled some part of him, made him feel relaxed, made him feel in control of his own life, and gave him an immense amount of joy at the pleasure that he could bring someone else, and of course - himself. They established fairly quickly that he definitely preferred to play the Dominant role, which suited her down to the ground. The first time she’d called him ‘sir’, and got to her knees beside his feet, he’d gotten hard so quick he was afraid that he might pass out. They tried lots of things together, but as a general rule, as she was the more experienced one, he liked her to show him what she meant or wanted, before he agreed to do it to her. So yeah, most of the times he played the Dominant, but whenever they were going to try anything new, he was more than happy to take on the submissive role for that first experience. This was especially true of any impact play, he refused to use anything on her body that he hadn’t first experienced.

After the first couple of months, she’d asked whether he’d like to go to a sex club, where she’d met other like-minded people. He’d immediately asked whether they’d be going as Dominant and submissive, with had made her grin like a Cheshire cat, and wholeheartedly agree. So, they’d gone to the club, Oliver wearing his best button up shirt and slacks, Sarah in a stunningly gorgeous pale blue dress. There was nothing obvious about them that said that he was her Dominant, and that she was the submissive, other than the hand that he had around her waist as they stood by the door asking to go in. She took her lead from him, and he got an absolute buzz off it, despite his eyes being wide from all the new things he was immediately confronted with. The place had been eye-opening, and Sarah had used the opportunity to introduce him to some friends of hers from the scene.

But that was years ago. Since then he’d finished his undergraduate, his postgraduate, his doctorate, and of course, the summer in Italy. He and Sarah had gone their separate ways at the end of his second year of college, and a few months later he’d started a full-blown D/s relationship with a man named Charlie, who despite being older than him, was quite happy for Oliver to be his Dominant. Obviously at the same time he came to terms with his bisexuality. The club and the scene that he was part of allowed him to do so comfortably, and without any feeling of being judged or excluded. Anything went there, as long as it was safe, and consensual. He remembered the first time he’d had sex with a man, he’d nearly come so fast that it was embarrassing. It had been towards the end of his relationship with Sarah, they were at the club, and he was playing a scene with both her _and_ the male submissive. He’d spanked the pair of them, before getting Sarah to sit on the guys face whilst he fucked him. It was _incredible_ ; the tight heat had nearly blown his mind. Since then he’d let others fuck him as well; just because he was being the bottom, didn’t mean that he couldn’t be in control. Some other Dominants he knew and occasionally played with didn’t understand that; the idea of letting a sub or a switch fuck them undermined their dominance. Oliver didn’t see it that way; he could still enjoy a good fuck, and be the one who was in control.

Playing in the scene became part of who he was, and even after he and Charlie went their separate ways, he still played frequently with subs, both at the club and in his apartment. But then he’d met Eloise, and he’d had to suppress that part of himself; he knew that it wasn’t acceptable to her, or to their families who expected a certain type of life for them. Which is why he’d broken it off after he came back from Italy. He knew that he couldn’t maintain that pretence. He hadn’t really showed Elio that side of himself, other than the odd session of rough sex, and one time when he’d asked Elio if he’d like him to choke him, to which Elio agreed (Oliver had told him to pinch him on the thigh if he wanted him to stop – it was sometimes a little difficult to use safewords with someone’s hand around your neck). But what had happened in Italy had been enough. Enough to remind him that the life that was waiting for him at home was not the one he wanted, that he needed something that that perfect suburban life couldn’t give to him.

That was how he had got to where he was now, picking up one of his usual partners from a café after he had been to the publishers. There was nothing sleazy about it; they had arranged a date that was mutually convenient to them, following one of their previous sessions together, and Oliver had agreed to pick him up. It growing dark as Oliver pulled up to the curb.

‘Hey,’ he said, after leaning over to open the car door from the inside, so that he could get in. It was raining rather heavily, so Nate had been standing under the café awning whilst he waited for him, and then hurried out so that he didn’t get too wet as he got in.

‘Hey,’ said Nate, as he clipped on his seatbelt, ‘Good week?’

‘Eh, alright,’ said Oliver, as he pulled away from the curb, ‘Just given my latest draft in to my publishers, so I’ll have to see what edits they come back with. Hopefully not too many this time.’

‘That must be the most difficult part; the editing?’ asked Nate.

‘It’s certainly the dullest,’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘And it takes a long time.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Nate, peering out of the window through the heavy rain.

They didn’t begin any sort of play before they were indoors, which was why Nate was addressing him the way that he was, and there was no sense of their more formal relationship between them as they drove. Oliver didn’t insist on that until they were ready to begin a scene. He wasn’t in a relationship with Nate; they had an agreement, knowing that one could do something that the other needed. Nate was one of three partners that Oliver had at that current time, but he saw Nate the most often, probably once every two weeks or more frequently if they had the time.

They chatted whilst they drove towards Oliver’s home, mostly about what was going on with them in their lives since they had last seen each other. It had been a little while, as Nate had been away upstate visiting his brother.

A full-blown rainstorm was upon them by the time they reached Oliver’s house, and he parked in a sheltered spot on the drive. He didn’t bother to put the car in the garage, knowing that he would have to take Nate home later, and it would be easier if the car was already out.

‘God, whatever the postman has left on the doorstep is going to be soaked,’ said Nate, as he peered out of the car window, towards the house.

‘Postman?’ asked Oliver perplexed, looking over, but unable to see properly through the gathering gloom and the sheets of rain, ‘I haven’t ordered anything.’

Nate gestured over; he was right. On the doorstep was a large bulky something or other, but Oliver couldn’t see what it was. Maybe Violet had left something out, meaning to put it inside before she left. God, he hoped it wasn’t anything fragile; it would be ruined.

‘Make a dash for it?’ asked Nate.

‘Yup,’ said Oliver, ‘I don’t think this is going to be stopping anytime soon.’

And with that they both opened the doors, slammed the shut, and made the short sprint towards the house, their heads bent against the horrendous weather. It was at Nate’s noise of surprise as he reached the door, a second or two before Oliver did, that he looked up. The dark, absolutely soaked, misshapen lump that was sitting on his doorstep had moved. The hoodie which had been drawn up around its head, as its face was curled into its knees was pushed back just far enough to see the pale face below.

‘Elio, what the fuck?!’ said Oliver, his jaw practically hitting the floor as he took in the familiar face.

**

‘Yes, thank you, about twenty minutes? Okay, cheers,’ said Oliver, finishing up his phone call and putting it back on the hook.

He turned around and walked through to the large living room, where a sight he never expected to see in a million years greeted him. Nate was sitting on one couch, a mug of tea in his hands, looking over at the other creature who was occupying his living room. Elio was sat, looking very sorry for himself, on two towels, with a mug of tea also between his cold hands, his wet hair plastered to his pale face. It was only late March, and it was unreasonably cold, for god’s sake, who knew how long the boy had been sat outside in the pouring rain? Oliver had been gone for several hours.

‘Taxi will be here in twenty minutes,’ said Oliver to Nate, ‘I’m sorry I can’t take you back, it’s just…’

He trailed off, looking at Elio.

‘It’s alright,’ said Nate, still looking thoroughly perplexed at the whole situation, ‘I understand… I think.’

‘I’m s-s-orry for ruining your evening,’ said Elio, his teeth chattering slightly. He looked back and forth between Nate and Oliver, as if trying to figure out what – if anything – there was between them.

‘I’ll go get you something dry to put on,’ said Oliver, ‘I assume all your clothes are wet?’

‘Well, my r-rucksack is soaked through, so I assume so,’ said Elio, taking another sip of the hot tea.

Oliver nodded with a slight eyeroll, before turning around again to head upstairs. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached his bedroom, and entered his closet. He eyed the clothes critically; of course everything was going to be far too big for Elio, but it would have to suffice for now. He grabbed a pair of warm tracksuit pants off the shelf where he kept his gym clothes, and a ratty t-shirt that he sometimes slept him. He also snatched a pair of thick socks from the draw. The boy looked as if he was freezing, despite the towels that he attempted to dry himself off on.

They hadn’t even got to the part about what the fuck he thought he was doing here; Oliver would wait until Nate was gone for that conversation. Also, when Nate was gone, getting Elio to ring his parents, so that they wouldn’t have an apoplexy over his disappearance. Although, he mused, that might have to wait until the morning, as it was the middle of the night in Italy at the moment, and a phone call at this time might just scare them more. He walked back down the stairs, arms full of the clothing he’d selected, and back into the lounge.

‘Here you go,’ said Oliver, walking over to Elio and passing him the bundle of clothing. As he did so, he accidentally touched Elio’s fingers, which were as cold as ice. Jesus, he needed to warm the boy up. He turned the thermostat up when they’d come in, so hopefully that would help him out a bit. He’d make him sit on the radiator for a bit once he’d got changed.

‘You’ll probably have to tie a knot in the trousers,’ said Oliver, ‘Otherwise they’ll be way too big for you.’

Elio nodded, and put his nearly empty mug down on the coffee table, before getting up.

‘Errr, where’s the bathroom?’ he asked Oliver.

‘Down the hall, past the stairs, the door on the right,’ said Oliver, gesturing back out into the hallway. Elio got up slowly, leaving the wet towels behind him, before shuffling out of the lounge on his wet-socked feet (Oliver had at least made him take his shoes off when he’d come in). He left footprints behind him as he did so.

He turned back to Nate, who was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, looking up at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Oliver, his hands raised in supplication, ‘I had no idea that he was going to be here.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Nate, ‘Things happen. Who is he though? I mean, he’s told me his name, and he said that you’re friends, but that’s about all I got.’

‘He’s the son of a professor I went to live with for a while, whilst I was finishing up the first draft of my book,’ said Oliver, walking into the room and picking up the two towels that Elio had left there. They had, of course, left a damp patch on his couch.

‘Didn’t you say that that was in Italy?’ asked Nate, confused.

‘Yeah, I did,’ said Oliver pointedly.

‘So, he’s come all the way from Italy? Unannounced?’ asked Nate amazed, ‘Why?’

‘I have no clue,’ said Oliver, ‘But judging by a phone call I had from his panicked father just this morning, I would say that he’s run away.’

Nate gaped at him in sheer amazement, unable to think of what to say.

‘I know,’ said Oliver, with a shrug.

They both looked up as they heard Elio coming back down the corridor. In any other situation, Oliver would have chuckled at the sight; the clothes were far too large on him, and he’d had to roll over the top of the pants several times, and tuck the overlarge t-shirt in, to stop them from falling down. The neckline of the shirt came halfway down his sternum as well, exposing his collarbones where they stuck out from his slim body. Oliver couldn’t help but feel the jolt of familiarity that ran through his body at the sight.

‘Better?’ asked Oliver, as Elio came back into the living room.

‘Do you want me to take those?’ he said, gesturing to the towels still in Oliver’s arms.

‘No, it’s alright,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ll just go drop them in the laundry. Where’s your wet clothes? Give them here.’

He turned to get rid of the wet things, walking passed the kitchen into the laundry, and dumping the towels on the floor. He would deal with them in the morning, assumedly with most of the rest of Elio’s clothes. There was a car horn from outside as he was approaching the lounge.

‘That’ll be my taxi,’ said Nate, standing up and coming out into the corridor.

‘Yeah,’ said Oliver, ‘Look I am really sorry about tonight. We’ll rearrange for some other… more convenient time.’

‘It’s fine, honestly,’ said Nate with a grin, clapping him on the arm, ‘I’ll leave you to sort out… whatever it is that’s going on here.’

‘Thanks,’ said Oliver dryly, ‘I’ll call you later in the week.’

‘Alright,’ said Nate, as the car horn honked again outside. He rolled his eyes at the impatient taxi driver, before leaning up and giving Oliver a peck on the cheek. He opened the door then, and Oliver could see that it was still absolutely siling down with rain, aa Nate hurried out into the night, trying to reach the taxi as quickly as possible, in order not to get too soaked. Oliver watched him get in and then shut the door, turning around to see Elio standing in the lounge doorway, looking as drowned as ever in his clothing.

‘Are you hungry?’ asked Oliver.

‘Yes,’ said Elio, so plainly that it made Oliver smile, but then he remembered that he was a teenage boy, and was probably always hungry.

‘I’ve got some chilli that I was going to have with Nate, is that alright?’ asked Oliver heading towards the kitchen, knowing that the boy would follow him.

‘Sounds good,’ said Elio, ‘Look, I am sorry for messing up your evening, he seems like a nice guy.’

‘Yeah, he is,’ said Oliver, getting the things he needed out of the fridge, and beginning to prepare. He didn’t really want to get into the whys and wherefores of his relationship with Nate right now. As he turned around to get the pans, Oliver saw Elio looking about.

‘Your house is massive,’ said Elio.

‘Well it was my parents’ house,’ said Oliver, with a shrug, ‘But after my father died… I got it.’

‘You must rattle around a bit in here,’ said Elio, ‘How do you keep it clean?’

Oliver chuckled despite himself, ‘I have a lady called Violet who comes in to help me out.’

‘And err… Nate doesn’t live here?’ asked Elio.

Oliver turned around to look at him, his eyebrow raised slightly, ‘He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re oh-so-subtly trying to ask.’

Elio had the grace to blush; a pretty pink suffusing his cheeks, ‘Sorry, I know it’s none of my business.’

Oliver shrugged, he wasn’t going to alleviate Elio’s statement. It _was_ none of his business, and would have continued to be none if he hadn’t shown up on his doorstep like a lost puppy. One he’d ensured that the chilli was bubbling away contentedly and that the rice was on to cook, he turned back. Elio had taken up residence on the sofa that was on the other side of the breakfast bar of the kitchen. He was sat up straight, however, and was clearly waiting for the telling off that he thought Oliver was going to give to him.

‘So,’ said Oliver, putting his hands on the counter in front of him, looking directly at the boy, ‘Go on then; I wanna hear it.’


	4. This Charming Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver takes care of Elio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter told from Elio's perspective. 
> 
> I was hit by a sudden urge to write another chapter for this story. Now that Above All Else and Into Darkness are nearly finished (sort of), I'll be picking this one up again, but once again _not_ in any serious way until those are done, so don't expect frequent updates please, I don't want to let you down! 
> 
> The outline for this story over the past couple of weeks has become quite a bit darker and more angsty than I originally planned, but I don't want to tag anything yet because it'll spoil the story. Please keep an eye out for these blurbs at the start of chapters for any content warnings that might appear, although it won't be for a while yet. :) 
> 
> Also, the kinky stuff is coming! But this story is growing arms and legs away from what I originally planned. Definitely on it's way though. :D
> 
> Thank you for the comments/subscribers/kudos I've got already - it means a lot!! <3 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'This Charming Man' by The Smiths

Elio looked up into the startlingly blue gaze of the man leaning on the kitchen counter and couldn’t help but swallow nervously, trying to decide what to tell him. He obviously wasn’t going to tell him…

… Well, _that_. He wasn’t even ready to tell that to himself again, and the moment his thoughts strayed anywhere close he felt his pulse speeding up. No, he dragged himself back from it before he could go any further. Not today, brain, not today. Oliver was looking at him expectantly.

‘Err, I don’t really know what to say,’ he said lamely, ‘Nothing I say is going to suddenly make what I did completely fine.’

Oliver snorted, ‘Well at least that’s the truth.’

‘Are you angry with me?’ he asked, biting his lip. That was the last thing he wanted. He remembered last summer; it had been the worst feeling in the world when he thought that Oliver was angry with him.

Oliver observed him for a moment before breathing out heavily, ‘No, I’m not angry. I’m just confused more than anything.’

 _Same_ , he wanted to admit. He didn’t really know why he’d done what he did. His feet and his mind had just kind of led him here. Maybe he’d been preparing for it for a while, subconsciously, he had been saving his money after all. Maybe it had been the remedy he’d been looking for.

‘Please don’t send me away,’ he said, aware that he sounded more than a little pathetic.

‘Haven’t you got to go back to school?’ asked Oliver, ‘And anyway, you can’t stay here forever.’

‘I know, I know!’ he said, ‘Not forever, obviously. And school, I’ve finished for the year. I’ve got a performance at the end of July that I have to prepare for, but other than I’m done. I just… can’t go back right now.’

‘Oh-kay,’ said Oliver slowly, clearly sensing that there was a lot more to this than he was currently being told, ‘Why not just go home?’

He shrugged. In truth he _didn’t_ really know why he hadn’t just gone home. Something had stopped him, however, and brought him here instead. Maybe some idea of unresolved business. He couldn’t help but let his lip curl at that thought.

‘So, you flew halfway across the world, just because you felt like it?’ asked Oliver. Again, he didn’t sound angry, just utterly perplexed.

‘Look, I said I’m sorry,’ he said desperately, ‘I didn’t mean to put you out, and I can’t really explain why I did it. I just, sort of… needed to come, to be somewhere different.’

Oliver could obviously hear the note of desperation in his voice, as his stance softened slightly, ‘Alright, okay, you can stay here for a bit. Clearly something is going on that you’re not going to tell me about.’

Elio didn’t say anything, neither wanting to confirm or deny Oliver’s train of thought.

Just as he was about to turn back to the cooking he looked back and eyed him beadily, ‘You haven’t been kicked out of the Conservatoire have you? And you’ve come here because you don’t want to go home and tell your parents?’

‘No!’ he said, slightly relieved that that was the question, ‘No, I’ve not been kicked out.’

‘And you haven’t done anything illegal? I’m not going to wake up in the middle of the night to police battering down my door?’

‘Would you help me if I had?’ the words were out of his mouth before he really had a chance to stop and think about them.

Oliver gaped at him, his mouth dropping open like a fish, ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing!’ he said, realising what his question had sounded like, and then when Oliver looked at him sceptically, ‘Honestly, nothing. I swear on Mafalda’s life that I haven’t done anything illegal!’

‘Okay,’ said Oliver after a brief pause, clearly deciding that this was a good enough denial. He turned back to the food that was bubbling away nicely on the stove, and Elio took that moment to relax. He hadn’t realised that he’d tensed up when Oliver had started questioning him. He looked up again at the sound of Oliver’s voice, although his back was still to him.

‘And in answer to your question, of course I would help you.’

He smiled, ‘Thank you. That means a lot.’

‘Well,’ said Oliver, his head in the oven as he got out the plates that he had been warming, ‘I’d like to think that you’d do the same for me.’

‘Of course I would,’ he replied instantly, without thinking about it.

Oliver didn’t reply, just began plating up the food, which smelled absolutely delicious to his empty stomach, which gave a sympathetic rumble just at that moment. Oliver chuckled, and put an extra spoonful into Elio’s bowl.

**

By the time he went to bed he was shivering in earnest.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Oliver, helping him in what was going to be his room for the night, ‘How long were you sitting in the rain?’

‘About th-th-three hours,’ he said, sliding into bed where Oliver had placed a hot water bottle, so the sheets were warm, and the duvet heavy against his form. It felt like heaven to his cold bones. He’d gotten to that point where his body felt heavy because the cold had sunk deep into his body. The warm meal for dinner had helped a bit, and at least he now felt full, rather than achingly hungry like he had earlier. He’d also had a shower, and Oliver had provided him with pyjamas, despite him saying that he didn’t mind sleeping in what he’d been given earlier.

‘Right, well try to sleep, and if you’re still not right in the morning, I’ll call the doctor,’ said Oliver, looking at him, as he dragged the covers up to try and cover as much of himself as was possible without actually suffocating himself. He still wasn’t warm though.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ he mumbled from beneath the covers.

‘I know I don’t,’ said Oliver, turning the bedside light off beside him before walking to the door, ‘But I will anyway. Night, Elio.’

And with that he closed the door, leaving Elio in the darkened room, with only the faintest of glimmers from a light outside coming through the heavy curtains. As he lay there he realised just how tired he was, and the bed was so goddamn comfortable, that it was mere moments before he felt himself dropping off to sleep.

By the time he woke up in the morning he was definitely sick. He hadn’t stopped shivering, and yet he felt hot at the same time, and he’d begun to cough. He tried to hold in the cough to no avail, and of course Oliver heard him in the kitchen and sent him straight back to bed. The next thing he knew he’d got hot tea, porridge with fruit, and a visit from the doctor coming up within an hour.

‘Stay there, and stay warm, and don’t move,’ Oliver instructed, as he piled up pillows to help him sit up so that he could eat.

‘What if I need to pee?’ he said with an impish grin.

‘I think I’ll probably let you go pee,’ said Oliver, smirking down at him, ‘But other than that, stay there. Do you want something to read?’

‘Erm,’ Elio blushed, ‘That would be nice. If it’s not too much trouble.’

Oliver rolled his eyes, ‘I think we’re past that point now aren’t we? What do you want?’

‘I don’t mind,’ he said, ‘Whatever you’ll think I’ll like.’

Oliver smiled at him and left the room. Elio sighed and stared up at the ceiling, breathing out heavily, which then instantly caused him to start coughing, nearly unseating his porridge. _Not_ how he planned for this to go. Then again, “planned” might be too strong a word for his actions over the two days. He ate in the silence of the room, listening for Oliver on the stairs. He’d just put his porridge bowl down when he heard the creak of a footstep in the corridor outside.

Oliver reappeared a moment later, carrying a book in one hand, and a phone trailing a cord in the other. He dumped the book on the bed, before he plugged the phone in to both the power and a spare phone socket that was just behind the bedside table in his room. He then got a scrap of paper out of his pocket and looked at it, before dialling a number, and then holding the receiver out to Elio.

‘Talk to your parents,’

He baulked for a moment, before he took the receiver from Oliver’s hand.

‘ _Pronto?’_ came his father’s slightly harassed voice from the other end.

‘ _Uh, papa, it’s me,’_ he said, his voice very small, dropping easily into speaking his mother tongue. He looked up at the snap of the door, and realised Oliver had left him alone to speak to his father in private.

‘ _Elio! Elio, where are you?! Oh God, are you alright? Are you hurt?’_

_‘No! Papa, I’m fine, I promise. I’m sorry for worrying you, really sorry.’_

_‘Look, just tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you. We’re not angry, we promise. Annella; it’s Elio!’_

He heard his mother’s yell in the background, from somewhere quite far away, and assumed she would be hurrying to stand by the phone and his father.

 _‘I’m alright, honestly, I don’t need you to come and get me, and you can’t anyway,’_ he said, ‘ _I…err… I came to America…’_

 _‘What?!’_ his father was unable to hide his surprise, ‘ _Did you… go to Oliver’s?’_

He paused, his voice even smaller than before, ‘ _Yes. I don’t know why… I just kind of found myself coming here.’_

 _‘It’s alright,’_ his father said, ‘ _It’s alright. Can you tell me why? Are you sure you’re alright?’_

_‘I’ll be okay. Oliver’s looking after me…’_

_‘Of course he is. I wouldn’t have expecting anything less.’_

_‘Yes… although he was a bit a surprised to see me.’_

_‘Unsurprisingly.’_

Elio giggled despite himself, ‘ _Sorry, I know you didn’t mean that to be funny,’_

His father chuckled in response, ‘ _I’m just glad you’re safe.’_

_‘I am safe papa.’_

_‘Are you going to come home?’_

_‘I can’t, not right now,’_ he said, ‘ _But of course I’ll come home.’_

 _‘And what about about school?’_ his father asked.

‘ _I have my recital in July,’_ he said, ‘ _But other than that I’m done for the year. Please trust me papa, I’ll be back as soon as I can. I just needed to be away for a while…’_

His father breathed out deeply, sounding troubled, ‘ _Alright. I do trust you. Of course I do. I trust that you know what you’re doing, and that if you don’t, at least Oliver will keep you safe.’_

‘ _Yes, he seems intent on doing that,’_

 _‘Well he would be,’_ said his father sharply, but didn’t elaborate any further.

There was a sound of a doorbell downstairs, and Oliver opening the front door. He heard voices.

‘ _I’ve got to go papa, Oliver has asked the doctor over because I was outside for a while yesterday and got a bit of a temperature. Everything’s fine though, don’t worry,’_ he said hastily.

‘ _Okay,’_ said his father, ‘ _But I want to hear from you often; every three days’ maximum okay? Let us know how you are and what you’re planning on doing. If you need any money just let me know.’_

 _‘I promise,’_ he said, ‘ _Tell mama I’m sorry if I caused her worry. I wasn’t thinking properly and that’s not what I wanted…’_

_‘I know, and she’ll know too. But I’ll tell her anyway.’_

The door opened and Oliver came back in with a man, probably in his mid-forties, who was holding a briefcase of some sort. He would have looked like the stereotypical doctor apart from the fact this man was _huge_. He thought Oliver was tall, but this man was at least three inches taller than him and broader in the shoulder. He looked like he could have been an international basketball player, or perhaps the half-brother of a giant.

‘ _Got to go, I love you,’_ he said into the receiver to his father.

‘ _Love you too,’_ said his father, ‘ _Bye, Elio. Speak to you soon.’_

And with that, he clicked the phone off, allowing Elio to put the receiver back on the cradle, and look up at both the doctor and at Oliver, who was looking down at him expectantly.

‘Elio, this is Dr. Mason, from the town,’ said Oliver, ‘He’ll check you over.’

‘Um, okay,’ he said nervously, looking up at the giant.

Oliver seemed to sense that he was nervous, ‘I’ll stay if you want?’

Elio nodded quickly, glancing up again at the doctor, who smiled at him, seemingly unoffended by Elio’s nerves.  

It turned out, as suspected, that he had a mild fever and the beginnings of a chest infection, probably caught on the plane and then made worse by the time he spent outside. The doctor prescribed him antibiotics, that Oliver said he would fill out in town, alongside plenty of bedrest for at least three days. He just knew he would be bored rigid by the end of three days. He jumped when the doctor first touched him, despite himself.

At Oliver’s request, Dr Mason also checked his general health, and when he started to argue, Oliver would have none of it. He reasoned that he probably hadn’t visited a doctor since he started at university, and it would be good to just get a general gauge on his health. The doctor agreed, much to his chagrin. He took some blood for tests, asked him about his weight and eating habits, listened to his heart, palpitated his abdomen, looked into his throat, ears and eyes. He asked him a few general questions about his health, jotting down a few notes in his book. When he asked him questions about his sexual health, Elio couldn’t help but glance at Oliver, but the older man seemed completely unfazed by the questions, so he did his best to answer them honestly. Dr Mason also requested that he urinate in a cup, to which Elio blushed furiously. Neither of them would let him get away with it, however. He reluctantly slid out of the warm bed onto slightly weak feeling legs and headed into the adjoining bathroom. It took him a moment to pee, knowing that they were waiting for him to do so. When he had finished, he screwed the lid on the cup and headed back outside. The doctor placed the cup in a sealed bag and then inside a container for him to take away.

‘I think that’ll be everything for now,’ said Dr. Mason, snapping off his sterile gloves and putting them in the bin, ‘I’ll be in touch with the results by the end of the week. Do try and fill in that prescription as soon as possible, and make sure you finish the course, Elio.’

‘Yes, of course doctor,’ said Elio, feeling very meek in the presence of this man.

‘I’ll see myself out, Oliver, not to worry,’ said the gentle giant, heading for the door.

‘Thank you Doctor,’ said Oliver, standing up from where he had been sitting in the corner of the room.

With that the doctor left, and they heard him go downstairs, stopping to say hello to the cleaning lady – whose name Elio had learned was called Violet – on the way out.

‘You alright?’ asked Oliver, as Elio pulled his shirt back on. The doctor had asked him to take it off so he could listen to his heart, and feel his stomach etc.

‘Yes,’ said Elio quickly, ‘Thank you for looking after me.’

Oliver looked down at him for a moment, a small frown on his face. He drew in a breath and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then thought better of it and closed it again.

‘I’ll go into town this afternoon,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ve got some shopping to do, and I’ll pick up your prescription whilst I’m there.’

‘Th-thank you,’ he said, trying to stifle a yawn as he spoke, and failing.

Oliver smiled, ‘Get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit. Just give Violet a yell if you need anything. She knows you’re here.’

He smiled despite himself, ‘Good, wouldn’t want her to think I’m so kind of burglar.’

‘An invalided burglar?’ asked Oliver, amused.

‘Maybe a tired burglar who just felt like taking a nap,’ he protested with a grin.

‘Never be a burglar,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ve got a feeling you’d be very bad at it.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said, yawning again.

Oliver didn’t say anything after that, he just smiled, and left the room, closing the bedroom door with a soft click. He was asleep within moments.


	5. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oliver has second thoughts, and third thoughts, and then changes his mind again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out' by The Smiths.

Oliver leaned against the door just after he had closed it, punching himself mentally. He took a deep breath to calm himself before heading down the hallway to his own expansive bedroom. He couldn’t believe himself and the way that his traitorous mind was reacting. Elio was ill and his mind was in the gutter. He shut his bedroom door behind and headed to the window, taking a deep breath of cool air that was spilling in from outside. He’d opened the window when he’d got up in order to air out his large room after the night; he liked it to be cool where he slept, abhorring overheated bedclothes on his skin. He closed it after a moment, leaning on the windowsill. A moment later he sighed in frustration and rubbed the heel of his palm over the front of his jeans, trying to deny the beginnings of… well… anything.

It was wrong, he knew it, but seeing Elio in the hands of that doctor, his small frame manoeuvred so easily by that giant of a man, it did something to him. Seeing that gentle power exerted over that body that he had once desired so much, and seen so many ways, and yet not nearly enough. He knew that he should have some strong words with himself but he just couldn’t help where his mind went. The doctor ordered Elio about, and for the most part, he listened. When he didn’t, he looked to Oliver for affirmation that it was okay. That he would be okay. That was something he hadn’t done all that much when he’d known him before. The Elio he’d known last summer hadn’t looked for affirmation before acting; he’d just reached out and done, sometimes before even thinking about it, and often without caring about the consequences. He remembered that first time, when Elio had reached out when they were laying in the grass at the berm, and had groped his cock through his shorts. It had taken all of his willpower then not to roll the boy onto his back and give into his desires; but he didn’t. He’d been good, for just a little while longer, despite Elio’s insistence.  

This Elio was a little different than the one he’d known. He seemed a bit more unsure, a bit more hesitant. He wondered if that had happened when he’d gone to college; it was a bigger world than he was used to at home, and sometimes that scared people and shook their confidence a bit, until they found where their place was in the big wide world. He wondered whether he’d made friends. It seemed like he did that quite easily, and got on well with the people around him at home; Marzia, Chiara, Sebastian, Marco, and Vimini. Had he found it so easy when he’d gone to the Conservatoire? He couldn’t imagine anyone not immediately being drawn to Elio, and being impressed by his talent, so perhaps that wasn’t the source of his new-found uncertainty. He probably wouldn’t be able to fathom it out on his own.

Regardless of Elio’s new disposition, it still didn’t explain why it turned him on to see Elio’s supplication to him for support. Deep down he _knew_ why it did. The idea of Elio’s deference to him in any sense was sensual, the idea of his deference to him in certain situation was downright erotic, if he let his mind stray that way.  Thinking like this was definitely not helping the beginnings of his arousal that had been stirring since he’d watched Elio’s body under the doctor’s hands.

The longer he stood there, the more he could feel himself regaining control of his arousal. He didn’t allow it to get the better of him, ever, it’s why he was so good at what he did, and why his subs trusted him. Control was the main part of the game, both of his sub and of himself. He was always in control, so that they could lose control. It was part of what made the experience so intoxicating for him; seeing someone under his hands completely let go; give in to their instincts and desires, their feelings and the sensations coursing through their body. And he could only get them there if he was in complete control of the situation. One slip, and things could quickly lose that potency, or at worse, become dangerous.

Once he had sufficiently calmed down he headed back out into the hallway, meaning to go downstairs, grab his wallet and the stuff he needed, and then go into town. As he passed Elio’s door, he paused, wanting nothing more than to peer inside and check on him, despite the fact he’d only left the room five minutes ago. He didn’t want to wake the boy, to disturb his rest that he desperately needed. He raised his hand to the door latch, wanting to turn it, just to assuage his curiosity. Did Elio still sleep on his front? Perhaps he wouldn’t at the moment; with the fact he was coughing so much, maybe he would be forced to lie on his back. He waited for a moment, but was jerked back to himself when he heard Violet coming up the stairs, and dropped his hand from the latch, turning away.

**

He was cooking dinner when he heard soft footsteps on the tiled kitchen floor. He turned around from the hob, to see Elio walking sleepily into the room, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes. He was wearing the same overlarge sleep pants and t-shirt from yesterday. He also had on large fluffy socks, which explained the muted steps on the floor.

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘What are you doing up? I thought the doctor told you to stay in bed?’

‘I can’t stay there all the time,’ said Elio, stifling a yawn and leaning on the door frame, ‘I’ll go nuts if I have to lie there for days on end.’

‘Your legs are literally shaking as you stand; flu or whatever infection it is you’ve got takes it out of you, go sit down before you fall down,’ he said, pointing at the breakfast stand. Elio leaned on the counter to get there, and then sat down heavily. Clearly the effort of getting downstairs and into the kitchen had taken it out of him.

‘You’re stubborn, you know that?’ he said, looking at the boy.

‘I know,’ said Elio, with a weak grin, ‘My mother tells me all the time.’

‘You’re going straight back to bed after some food, alright?’ he said, pointing the spatula he was using to turn the fish with at him. Elio was now sitting with his head in hands. If he had any sense he would send the boy back to bed now, but somehow Elio always managed to get the better of his good sense, one way or another.  

‘Yes sir,’ said Elio mockingly, not looking up from his hands.

Oliver instantly stiffened, and turned around to look back at what he was cooking, the heat creeping up the back of his neck. The effect of Elio calling him _sir_ was instant. He couldn’t deny it; it turned him on no end. Obviously, Elio didn’t know that, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him. The way that that word had rolled off his tongue; _sir sir sir_. He wondered what it would sound like said properly, or mewled, or begged. _Fuck_. Stop thinking like this, he mentally directed himself, aggressively turning the fish.

He tried to concentrate on cooking up the food, adding more vegetables into the pot. He’d prepared more than he needed, meaning to eat his dinner, and then cook Elio’s after before taking it upstairs for him. He’d have helped him eat it, if need be.

When he turned around again, Elio’s head was on the table and he looked like he was asleep.

‘Alright, that’s it,’ he muttered, almost to himself. He turned the heat right down before walking over to the gently sleeping boy and touching him on the shoulder, causing him to stir but not fully waken. He rolled his eyes, turning the chair on which he was sitting, before sliding his hand under the boy’s knees and around his back, before lifting him bodily off the chair. Elio leaned against his chest, half asleep, half awake, and put his arm around Oliver’s neck, allowing him to carry him out the of the kitchen and up the stairs. Elio had left the door open when he’d come down, so all Oliver did was nudge it open with his knee, before walking in and depositing him down on the bed. He pulled the covers down on the other side and made sure Elio was covered in the duvet, head propped comfortably on the pillow.

‘Thank you,’ Elio murmured, opening his eyes a touch, ‘I am still hungry though. I just can’t decide if I’m more hungry or more tired.’

He chuckled in his throat, ‘Alright, I’ll bring some food up, and you’ll eat it up here. Don’t move a muscle.’

‘I don’t think I could anyway,’ said Elio with a wan smile.

Oliver shook his head and headed back down the stairs and into the kitchen. The fish was nearly done, so he slid some plates into the oven to warm. He tested the vegetables with a knife, making sure they were cooked through, before taking them off the hob. The sauce he’d been cooking had gotten a little lumpy whilst he was upstairs, but a couple of stirs with the spoon mostly fixed that. And anyway, it still tasted good. He got the plates out, served up and poured the sauce out on top.

He managed to fit both plates on a tray and grabbed some cutlery out the draw, before heading back upstairs. As he was about to leave the kitchen he spotted the bag of medication he’d picked up from the pharmacy earlier, and managed to shove it on the edge of the tray, holding it onto it with his little finger. He wanted Elio to eat before he fell asleep entirely. He opened the bedroom door and found that Elio had turned the bedside light on, bathing the room in a warm glow.

‘Here you go,’ he said, laying the tray in Elio’s lap, ‘You can take your pills as well; the pharmacist said you should take them with food.’

‘Smells good,’ said Elio, shifting to make himself more comfortable. Oliver took his plate from the tray and sat by Elio’s feet, leaning against the footboard.

‘Hopefully it tastes good as well,’ he said, taking a mouthful, ‘Eat it all, you need to keep your strength up whilst you’re sick.’

‘When did you get so bossy?’ Elio asked, beginning to eat anyway.

‘Well, your dad trusted me to take care of you,’ he said, ‘So I will. And taking care of you means making sure you eat enough to get well as quick as possible.’

Elio rolled his eyes, ‘Where did you learn to cook?’

‘Just because Mafalda did it all when I was with you, doesn’t mean that I can’t cook,’ he said. He hesitated after he realised what he’d just said; it was the first reference he’d made to his time in Italy last summer, directly at least.

Elio didn’t seem to noticed, continuing, ‘Says the man who can’t take the top off a boiled egg.’

‘You’d be surprised. I’ve learnt to do that as well. I’ve lived alone for the past four months, remember that.’

‘Miracles will never cease.’

He chuckled despite himself.

‘I see the infection hasn’t curbed your sarcasm.’

‘N-No,’ said Elio, around a cough, which then turned into a coughing fit. He got up quickly, putting his own plate on the dresser, reaching out to rescue the tray, he really didn’t want to have to change the bedsheets because the sauce had gotten all over them.

‘Here,’ he said, handing Elio the glass of water that he had on the bedside table, once the coughing had abated slightly.

‘Thanks,’ said Elio, his voice slightly raspy, taking a careful drink in case he started coughing again. He handed it back when he was sure he’d stopped coughing. Oliver could still hear the rasp in his chest, but the water seemed to calm it a little bit.

‘Not a problem,’ he said, ‘Think you can eat some more?’

Elio nodded, so he moved the tray back into place, and put the water back on the nightstand. He went back to his own food, and noticed Elio looking at him curiously. He tried to ignore him for a few moments as they ate.

‘What?’

‘You said you’ve lived alone for the past four months? And then when I arrived here you were with a guy who’d you’d picked up somewhere…?’ said Elio.

He set his fork against the side of his plate and sighed.

‘What are you trying to ask?’

‘Well, last time I knew, you were engaged, what happened?’

‘I broke it off,’ he said, ‘I realised that I was doing it for all the wrong reasons, so I decided to do what was best, before I made a big mistake.’

Elio’s paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.

‘Mistake?’ he asked, ‘What do you mean?’

‘I just should never have proposed,’ he said, ‘It wasn’t right for me, and it definitely wasn’t right for Eloise. So, I did the right thing.’

He finished the last bite of his food, getting up to his plate on the dresser.

‘And Nate?’ asked Elio, ‘What was that about?’

He turned back quickly and spoke roughly, ‘Look, I don’t really want to talk about this with you. It’s really none of your business.’

Elio’s face fell, and he immediately regretted the harshness of his words, but he didn’t try and take them back. Trying to unsay something just said was pointless; because everyone always remembered the thing you were trying to take back. And anyway, he meant what he said, just perhaps not the way that he’d said it.

‘Finished?’

Elio nodded and said quietly, ‘I can’t eat anymore.’

He picked up the tray from Elio’s lap and moved to put his own empty plate on it.

‘You should take your pill,’ he said, nodding towards the pill packet he’d placed next to the water, ‘You’re supposed to take two a day; so one now, and another one with breakfast.’

‘Sure,’ Elio mumbled, ‘I’m tired.’

‘Alright, I’ll let you sleep. Goodnight, Elio.’

Before he’d even reached the door, Elio had switched out the bedside light, leaving him to feel for the door latch in the semi-dark. As soon as he was out in the hallway, and shut the door behind him, he could have sworn he heard a muffled sob come from within the room. God, he was such an asshole. He could have fucking kicked himself, as he walked away to go back to the kitchen.


	6. Love Will Tear Us Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations, many of them difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your feedback and support for this story so far, I'm excited by the conversation that this is stirring up already. I know it's a bit of slow burn, but I hope you'll stick with me on this one.... we'll get to the good stuff soon enough. 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' by Joy Division.
> 
> Another note; as a writer I'm working on improving my dialogue between characters. I'd be interested to know your thoughts on that aspect. :) 
> 
> V  
> xxx

He shouldn’t have come here; it was wrong of him to impose himself on Oliver like this, on his life and on his time, he knew that now. He waited until he heard Oliver go to bed, several hours after he’d left with the dinner tray. It must have been gone midnight, he surmised. He coughed twice, his chest aching, and cursed whatever infection he’d picked up on the plane, made worse by sitting in the rain for hours. He slid out of bed, and shoved his shoes on that were sitting by his rucksack next to the door, folding the backs down with his heels. His clothes were still in the laundry room from yesterday, but it didn’t matter, it was only a couple of t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and some underpants. He could leave them; they weren’t important.

He was about to leave the room when he glanced back, and spotted the bag of pills that Oliver had picked up for him earlier. It would be useful for him to have those, so he grabbed them and shoved them in his half empty rucksack. He opened the door, and just managed to swallow a cough, not wanting to wake Oliver. He glanced to the left, towards what he knew was Oliver’s bedroom, but he couldn’t see a silver of light under the door and assumed the other man was asleep. He hitched his rucksack up his shoulders, and walked quietly down the stairs and towards the front door. The key was in the lock, for which he was grateful. He looked around, and spotted a coat hanging on the rack. He felt guilty about taking it, but perhaps he could mail Oliver some money once he got somewhere with a post box. He couldn’t go outside in just a sleeping shirt. He shrugged it on, put his rucksack back on, and turned back to the door. The heavy clunk from the lock was loud in the quiet and empty hallway, causing him to wince at the noise. He opened the door, and a rush of cold air hit him. He was just relived it wasn’t raining.

He didn’t quite know what his plan was. That seemed to be his modus operandi these days; to not have a modus operandi. He zipped the coat up around himself, and headed down the driveway to the gate. It squeaked when he opened it slightly, causing him to curse under his breath, but he hoped that it hadn’t be loud enough to disturb anyone. He figured he’d walk into town, and then see where he could go from there. It would take him a couple of hours at least to walk into town, as that what it had been coming the other way, and the cold air was making him cough in earnest. At least the moon was bright tonight, and was providing enough light that he could see where he was going.

He’d been so stupid to come here; to think that Oliver was the answer to the questions and problems that he had at the moment. He’d run away from his present, by trying to run into his past. Well that wasn’t going to work. Oliver had obviously been nice to him because he felt obligated for whatever history they shared, not for any other reason. And yet, something was tugging at his gut; Oliver was kind to him and had done more for him than he needed to. Was that just because he was a good person? Or was there something more to it? Oliver had said that he’d help him if he was ever in serious trouble. Casual acquaintances didn’t offer that kind of support. He knew he’d do the same for Oliver, but he figured that their motives were entirely different. Why couldn’t he shake this ache in his chest? His thoughts were interrupted by another bout of coughing that caused him to stop walking and double over until the spell had passed. _Fuck_ this stupid cough. He turned right at the end of a stretch of lane, in the direction of the nearest town. His ears pricked and skin rippled at the unsettling stillness of the small hours; it was amazing what you could hear, and what you were aware of when the silence of the world was around.

He’d only gone another fifty metres or so when he heard running footsteps on the empty road behind him. They echoed wetly on the concrete.

‘Elio!’

_Fuck_.

He knew Oliver couldn’t see him yet; the moon may be bright, but he was too far ahead at the moment. He looked to his left and right, seeing whether there was anywhere he could hide, but the woods were thick either side of the road. If he started to try and walk through the woods, he’d be lost within seconds, and who knew if he’d find his way back. He’d probably end up like one of those New England backpackers who went off into the woods and then simply disappeared. He picked up his pace, but the moment he got anywhere close to a jog, he started coughing violently. _Fuck_ , that immediately gave away that it was him, and how far away he was. He stopped walking as he heard the footsteps increase in speed; there was no point in trying to evade his pursuer now. _Fucking fuck this cough_ , he thought even more vehemently than a few moments before. He turned around to await his fate.

He grimaced as Oliver jogged into view. He was only wearing a pyjama t-shirt and shorts, with trainers and no socks. He’d clearly shoved them on in a hurry.

‘Elio, what the fuck are you doing?’ Oliver huffed as he ran closer, stopping a metre or so away from him.

‘I-,’

That was the only word he could get out before he started coughing heavily again, the tightness in his chest hurting as the bout went on and on and on, causing him to double over.

‘Come on, let’s get back, and then we’ll try and talk,’ said Oliver, looking down at him. In the semi-dark his eyes were deep inky blue, almost black, and his mouth was a thin line.

He felt like he wanted to cry; he was such a fucking idiot, and a mess to boot. He knew he should go back with Oliver, but at the same time he wanted to stand his ground and keep walking. He was behaving like a petulant child whatever he chose to do.

It seemed like Oliver read his mind and his moment of indecision, ‘Walk with me back to the house, or I will put you over my shoulder and carry you back.’

He scoffed, but from the flash change of expression on Oliver’s face, he knew the other man was deadly serious.

‘Alright,’ he coughed, ‘ _Alright_.’

They walked back along the road in silence. It wasn’t far; he hadn’t managed to get a long way before Oliver caught up with him. The gate was open and they walked back through it, Oliver closing it behind them with a click.

‘Go in the lounge, I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ said Oliver tersely. He didn’t dare look at him too closely; but he could see the other man was white with cold himself.

Elio slid his rucksack off his back and took the coat off that he’d borrowed, hanging it back up on the peg he’d taken it from.

The lounge was dark, and he flicked on one of the table lamps before throwing himself on one of the couches. He’d rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, and then started coughing, growling in annoyance at himself as the coughing continued.

Oliver walked in, carrying a cup of tea in one hand and a fluffy blanket in the other. He threw the blanket over him, before putting the tea down on a side table.

‘Tuck that around you, and drink this,’ he ordered.

‘Did you make one?’ Elio asked, looking up at him, as he tried to sort out the blanket. Gods, this thing was massive. It was more like a sail than a blanket, and it trailed on the floor as he struggled with it.

‘Yes, but I couldn’t carry that as well,’ he said, ‘Be back in a minute.’

He shivered as Oliver left, and snuggled deeper under the blanket. God, he felt like such an idiot. A moment later, Oliver was back, carrying a mug of his own. He sat down on a chair opposite, looking at him as he held onto his mug. He could see the older man was trying to control his own shivering, hoping that the hot mug would help him warm up.

‘Look, I’m sorry I-,’

‘What the fuck were you thinking, Elio? Sneaking off in the middle of the night?’ Oliver asked.

Elio looked down at his hands, ‘It’s clear you don’t want me to be here. I made a mistake coming here.’

‘I never said that,’ said Oliver, his eyes widening.

‘You didn’t have to,’ he said, ‘You made it quite clear.’

‘How?’ growled Oliver, ‘I’m trying to look after you; I _want_ to look after you, and yet you sneak out in the middle of cold spring night, whilst you are ill no less… did you lose your ability to think because of this infection as well?! Jesus Christ, Elio, I thought you were smarter than that!’

‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Clearly,’ said Oliver, his tone softening.

‘How did you know I’d gone?’ he mumbled, ‘I expected to make ‘til at least morning before you noticed.’

‘There’s a sensor in the hallway that beeps when the gate opens between 1am and 7.30am,’ said Oliver waving his hand.

‘Smart,’ he said, offhand.

‘Something my dad had put in when he owned the house,’

There was a pause, and he tried to swallow some coughing, which just made it worse.

‘Drink your tea,’ said Oliver, nodding to the table near his head. He reached out to take hold of it and took a few sips when he’d stopped coughing enough to do so.

‘I’m sorry if you thought I didn’t want you here,’ said Oliver quietly, ‘That’s not true, and I’m sorry if I behaved in a way that made you think that.’

Elio didn’t reply, just looked down at his hands again.

‘I really am,’ said Oliver, his voice croaked.

His head snapped up, just in time to see a solitary tear roll down Oliver’s cheek.

‘Oh fuck,’ he breathed, ‘Oliver, I’m sorry -,’

Oliver chuckled wetly, ‘What for?’

‘I didn’t mean to upset you, I was just-,’

‘How is it that we can go from me apologising to you, to you apologising to me in less than ten seconds?’

‘Guess we’re just messed up that way,’ he said, unable to stop the wry smile crossing his face. Oliver shivered on the sofa opposite, and he realised that he was still only wearing his t-shirt and sleeping shorts. He’d been so wrapped up in his own self-pity that he hadn’t even really thought about Oliver, other than to note his mild discomfort.

‘You must be freezing,’ he said, ‘Come, have some of this blanket. This sofa is fucking huge, and the blanket can cover you as well.’

‘No, I’m alright,’ said Oliver stoically.

‘Don’t be an idiot, this blanket is so big you don’t even have to come anywhere near me if you don’t want to.’

‘That’s not it, I-,’

He fixed him with such a glare that whatever Oliver had been about to say died on his lips. The other man sighed and got up, coming to sit on the other end of the sofa that he had curled up on. Cold air curled around his legs for a moment as Oliver manoeuvred the blanket so that it was draped over him as well.

‘That’s better,’ he said with a smile.

Oliver didn’t speak, he just nodded and shifted slightly, his foot brushing against Elio’s leg by accident, who let out a little ‘oooh!’ at the touch of icy cold skin.

‘Well that’s what happens when you force me to run after you in the middle of the night. I just shoved my trainers on,’ said Oliver.

‘Gee, I’m sorry Oliver,’ he said, coughing once more, ‘Now you’ll be the one getting sick.’

‘Probably,’ said the other man, ‘But more so because I’ll catch it from you, than anything to do with the cold.’

There was a moment of silence. He shifted, wanting to say something else, but struggling for a moment to wrap his tongue around the necessary words.

‘I didn’t mean to pry, last night,’ he said, ‘I know that you’ve got a life that doesn’t involve me and I-,’

‘Elio, don’t,’ said Oliver, ‘It was me who was the asshole, I know you weren’t trying to pry.’

‘Who you date is your own business, I guess I just couldn’t help myself.’

‘You never could.’

‘True.’

‘And just to set the record straight; Nate and I are not dating. I am not dating anyone. I occasionally see people, but we are very much in agreement about what that means.’

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. That was the most personal information Oliver had told him since he’d arrived here, and he didn’t quite know how to respond.

‘I guess you’re never sure how to act when a ghost turns up on your doorstep,’ said Oliver with half a shrug.

‘Must be a shock,’ he said wanly.

‘It was; although I am getting used to it.’

He couldn’t help but smile, ‘Thank you for looking after me.’

‘I said I would, and I want to. I know I hurt you with how I acted last night,’ Oliver said, ‘But that wasn’t my intention… I-,’

He trailed off.

‘Yes?’ asked Elio, after a moment of quiet.

Oliver took a deep breath, his eyes flicking to meet his for a moment, ‘You know those people who you become friends with… who, it doesn’t matter how long you spend apart, you have a connection with them that you’re always going to be friends, no matter?’

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

‘Well it’s like that,’ said Oliver gruffly, ‘Regardless of the fact that it ended, we had something special Elio, you and I, and I will always look out for you if I can, okay? It doesn’t matter if we don’t… y’know. People can be friends afterwards, good friends. You are special to me. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear enough.’

He felt like he might cry, but he managed to control himself enough to nod and whisper, ‘Thank you.’

The grandfather clock in the corner clunked into place and chimed out, letting them know it was half past the hour of two. Oliver looked over at it, as if waiting for further information before he spoke again.

‘Come on, we should go back to bed. You especially. You do realise that you’ve probably added a couple more days onto your bedrest because of this night time sojourn?’

He chuckled and shrugged, ‘What can I say; I’m an idiot.’

Oliver rolled his eyes, ‘Yes, you are. Now, come on. I don’t want to have to carry you up the stairs again.’

‘I can manage, and besides, I need to pee before I go back to bed.’

‘Alright, I’ll let you. I’ll make you a hot water bottle.’

He nodded as Oliver shifted to move.

‘Do you have two?’

‘Why?’

‘Well you should have one too; you’ve been outside in your pyjama shorts; I can feel that you’re still cold,’ he said.

‘I’ll manage,’ said Oliver.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m not having that; you have the bottle. I’ll just snuggle up.’

‘Elio,’ said Oliver, sounding as if he was about ready to argue again, ‘That’s not how this works-,’

He chewed on his lip, looking up at him, before cutting across him.

‘Did you know that Eskimos share heat?’ he said, ‘When they’re cold and need to warm up.’

Oliver paused, his mouth open, before his eyes narrowed, ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Well, we could warm up under the same duvet, as there’s only one bottle. Nothing weird I promise,’ he said quickly, holding up his hands, ‘I just don’t want you to be cold. And then when you’re back to normal, you can go back to your own bed.’

Oliver considered him for a moment, before he slowly nodded, ‘Alright, because I _am_ cold, and I don’t want to get sick, or even more sick if I already am, if I can help it. But then I’m going back to my bed.’

He nodded vehemently; he genuinely wasn’t trying to use this as an excuse to get Oliver into the same bed as him. It’s just he felt guilty enough already about how he’d acted tonight, without the other man suffering any more.

‘I’ll see you upstairs.’

He peeled back the enormous blanket and put down the now empty mug he was holding, before padding across the floor and up the stairs. He peed quickly in the ensuite bathroom, and got back into the unmade bed he’d left behind him before Oliver had even come into the room. He entered a moment or two later, holding the bottle, which, after flipping down the other side of the duvet, he slid down towards the bottom of the bed. Elio could instantly feel the heat beginning to trickle across the sheets towards him, and he nearly shuddered in delight at the sensation. The bed dipped as Oliver got in, but was big enough that they could both lie comfortably without touching. Besides, they were both wearing sets of jammies, not that his mind was in any way thinking about that. He could feel the coldness radiating from Oliver’s skin, and he instantly felt another stab of guilt at his actions, but was assuaged by the fact he’d managed to convince him to warm up properly. The duvet was over them both, and the bottle was doing its job of heating up the bed nicely, so that he slowly felt like he was sinking into a warm bath. Now he was getting warm again, and was comfortable, his coughing seemed to be less frequent. He closed his eyes.

‘Night Elio,’ Oliver murmured from his left.

‘Night,’ he said.

Oliver shifted and flicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness.  


	7. I Don't Want To Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A library and a locked door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY this has taken so long. Also I'm sorry if I haven't replied to your messages; rest assured I read them all and they mean the world to me, I've just been a bit all over the place lately! 
> 
> I've just moved house, and I feel like I'm not really living in a space that's mine anymore (it's only temporary, but wooo!). Also, my writing space has diminished significantly to what is effectively a cupboard, so I'm not exactly inspired to go and sit in there for ages and write. I will try and keep updating my stories as often as possible though, just be aware it might not be as often as it was before. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this chapter, such as it is. :) 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'I Don't Want To Know' by Fleetwood Mac

He wasn’t surprised when he woke up alone. What did surprise him, however, was that the indent next to him was still slightly warm, suggesting that the person who had shared his bed had only left it a short while ago. He sat up to move and swing his legs out of the bed, and immediately start to cough heavily. He flopped back against the pillows once it abated slightly, huffing in annoyance and glaring at the ceiling. He had just made up his mind to have another go at getting out of bed when the door swung open and Oliver walked in backwards, carrying a breakfast tray.

‘Oh wow,’ croaked Elio, ‘Breakfast in bed… _again_. You’re spoiling me.’

‘You’re sick,’ Oliver pointed out firmly, ‘I would not be doing this if you weren’t; you’d be getting up and getting your ass to the kitchen.’

Elio chuckled, and coughed a bit more, ‘You’re right; I do feel especially rubbish this morning.’

‘Well, I won’t say “I told you so”,’ said Oliver.

‘You just did,’ he said wryly, ‘How are you feeling?’

Oliver shrugged one shouldered as he made sure Elio was sitting comfortably with the tray on his lap and could feed himself.

‘What does that mean?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got a bit of a sore throat,’ said Oliver, ‘But that could be because I was sleeping with my mouth opening last night.’

‘I didn’t hear you snoring,’ grinned Elio as he ate the porridge that Oliver had brought in. It was loaded with so much fruit he wasn’t sure he was able to eat it all. Oliver was clearly trying to make sure he ate healthily whilst he was here. It probably wasn’t a bad idea; he didn’t exactly eat well whilst he was at university. His mother had noticed he’d lost weight when he’d been home for Christmas, but he’d just blamed it on stress, and then on _that_ phone call.

‘I don’t snore, I talk in my sleep though,’

‘Oh that could be dangerous,’ he said.

‘So far, so good,’ said Oliver, as he sat on the end of his bed.

‘Do you not have any food?’

‘I’ll eat later,’ said Oliver with another shrug, ‘I wanted to make sure you ate, because you’re going to sleep most of the day?’

‘I am?’

‘You are,’ confirmed Oliver, ‘Sleep is the way you get better, so alongside those antibiotics, I’ve got some medication that will help with your coughing.’

‘And it’ll make me sleepy?’

‘Well, it says on the back, “ _Do not operate heavy machinery after taking_ ”’ said Oliver with a grin.

‘Damn,’ said Elio, ‘Guess I better give you the keys to the forklift truck I brought with me,’

Oliver chuckled, ‘But you must take them with food,’

‘Well, I’m certainly going to be doing that,’ he said motioning to the half full bowl of fruit and porridge still in front of him, ‘I don’t think I can eat all this,’

Oliver raised his eyebrow, ‘I’ve seen you eat your way through four of Malfalda’s courses, I think you can manage that.’

Elio grinned, and the proceeded to start coughing, causing Oliver to lean over to the hold the tray steady whilst he did quite a good job of coughing up his lungs. His stomach was starting to hurt from where he had been coughing so much over the past few days. Oliver took his tray away once he’d overseen a few more mouthfuls, and went to go and get his pills.

He was right. The pills _did_ make him sleep. Within twenty minutes he was spark out, feeling as he was being pressed into the mattress, and couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He thought he might have gotten up to pee a couple of times, but he couldn’t really remember, as when he flopped back into bed he was spark out again within seconds.

When he awoke there was a dim half-light outside which was trickling under the curtains as he blearily peeled his back his eyelids. He wondered how long he had been asleep. The first thing he noticed is that his chest wasn’t wheezing quite so badly every time he drew breath, which he assumed must be a good thing. He got cautiously to his feet, and was happy when he didn’t immediately start coughing from the movement. So far, so good. The journey over to the window was equally as successful, and he upon peeling back the curtain he realised it must be drawing near night, sometime after sunset – such as it was in March. He wondered if Oliver was about.

He pushed on the pair of fluffy slippers that Oliver had left at the foot of his bed, and exited the bedroom. It was quiet, upstairs certainly. He stopped at the top of the stairs, listening for any signs of life.

‘Oliver?’ he called

Silence.

‘Oliver?’ he tried again louder, happy that his voice didn’t croak, although it was somewhat raspy from lack of use over the past couple of days.

Still no answer. Okay, so Oliver was out, or in the garden. He figured it being quite late in the evening and fairly cold outside, that the former was probably the right answer. He couldn’t imagine Oliver pottering about the shrubbery in the cold. Having said that, he supposed he could be asleep or in his study, and just not heard him call. He hadn’t seen Oliver’s study whilst he was here, and he smiled a little as he imagined all of the books papering the walls. He wondered if anything would take his fancy. He didn’t bother going downstairs; when Oliver had brought him his book, he’d only been gone a few moments, so he couldn’t have gone down there.

He knew that the room at the end was Oliver’s bedroom, and the one on the left was the guest room that he was staying. There were two other guest bedrooms on the right of the staircase, and another at the end. There were so many bedrooms in this place; he was used to it back at home, that place was like a rabbit warren that had been added to over the years, with corridors and rooms leading off in all directions. But this place, this place was just palatial in its own right; a massive pile in the middle of the New England countryside. Whoever thought that one, relatively small family, would ever need this many rooms to sleep in? Unless they were holding massive parties, he supposed… then again, he didn’t think Oliver had ever mentioned that his parents held lunchtime _drudges_. That was something he’d learned to endure when he’d stayed for the summer.

He’d got distracted by his thought process. He found the family bathroom, a store closet, a spare wardrobe, Violet’s cleaning closet, and _another_ spare bedroom. The next door he tried was locked. _Locked?_ Why would this door be locked? Who kept a locked door _inside_ their house? His slightly over-medicated mind immediately jumped to everything that it shouldn’t; serial killers and kidnap, but then he remembered it was Oliver he was thinking about, and that the man couldn’t even bring himself to kill a bug last summer, so serial killer was probably a bit of a stretch.

Still, that didn’t explain the locked door. He’d just ask him about it when he came home. The puzzle of whether the study was upstairs or not solved, he headed downstairs on slippered feet. He had to hang on tight to the banister to make sure he didn’t slip; these fluffy things Oliver had left out didn’t exactly have a lot of grip. He wandered into the kitchen to get a drink, before exploring the rooms downstairs. No locked door here. He eventually found the study at the back of the house, and flicked on the light. There was a large bay window overlooking the garden in which Oliver had situated his desk. It was certainly a nice view, and one which would definitely help him write. It was as he’d suspected, every inch of wall space was covered in books, that was apart from one tiny scrap of space to the left of the window where a small postcard had been pinned. His stomach flipped when he leaned forward to get a good look at it. It was the postcard of Monet’s Berm that Oliver had swiped from his old room at the end of last summer. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth that Oliver had bothered to mount it in a prominent position where he worked. Obviously, the place meant something to him; even if he’d moved on from the person he’d shared it with. But Oliver had said that he was special to him; that they’d shared something special.

Either way, he’d come in here for a book, so he took to perusing the shelves. A lot of it was typical Oliver, and stuff he wouldn’t want to read even if he was paid; some particularly crusty looking Sophist texts, not even translated. His Greek was rusty at best, his Ancient Greek even worse. He picked a copy of Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_ off the shelf and thumbed through it, chuckling to himself as he realised that a teenage Oliver had scribbled notes for essays, assumedly ones he wrote in high school, in the margins and the chapter title pages. He sat down in the comfy office chair; he’d not read this himself since high school.

He didn’t even notice the descent of night outside as he was absorbed in the pages of the novel. He did, however hear the loud shutting of the front door, and the clunk of a key in the lock.

‘Oliver?’ he called out, not moving from the chair.

‘No, it’s a doorstep preacher, come to talk to you about finding God,’ came Oliver’s disembodied voice from the hallway, causing Elio to giggle.

‘Who did you think it was?’ said the man as he appeared at the study doorway.

‘Well, I assumed it was probably you,’ he said, ‘But I thought it best to check.’

‘What are you doing down here?’ asked Oliver, looking around.

‘Reading,’ he said with a shrug, ‘Woke up and decided I couldn’t lie in that bed any longer.’

‘Well you’re clearly feeling better then?’

‘Certainly a lot better than I was a few days ago,’ he said, ‘How long was I asleep?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ asked Oliver

‘I guess not if I’m asking you?’ he said.

‘Guess those pills really do mess you about,’ said Oliver, his eyebrows travelling some way up his forehead, ‘I brought you some food yesterday morning after you hadn’t stirred for a day, and you had another one, along with your antibiotics like the doctor suggested. Then that was it until tonight. They seem to have worked though.’

‘That they do,’ he said with a shrug and then grinned, ‘So, what’s for dinner?’

Oliver laughed in the back of his throat, ‘You’re like an overeager puppy. Come on, I was going to cook pasta; not difficult to make enough for two.’

He got up off the chair, slightly unsteady still, but generally much better and followed Oliver towards the kitchen. He flicked off the light in the study as he left the room, although he was still holding the book in his hand. Oliver turned on the kitchen light, bathing the room in soft light.

Elio sat himself down at one of the breakfast bar seats, overlooking the island where Oliver prepared food.

‘Oh yeah, by the way,’ he said, putting his book down on the top.

‘Yeah?’ said Oliver, his head buried in the fridge as he rootled around for ingredients.

‘What’s with the locked door upstairs?’  


	8. The Ghost In You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curtain drops, but the stage is dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your support. :) I hope you're enjoying the direction this story is going... what do you think Elio's secret is? Does he have one? Or did he just want to see Oliver? 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'The Ghost In You' by The Psychedelic Furs

His immediate reaction was to chastise, to balk, to back away, to ask Elio what the fuck he thought he was doing snooping around in his house. That’s what he wanted to do; to ignore the question, or to brush it off. But he knew that Elio would see right through that; people had locked rooms in their houses, didn’t they? At the same time, he didn’t want to push Elio away because of his own shitty outbursts; the other man was staying here with him, he was allowed to look around if he wanted to. Assumedly he’d been trying to find something when he found the locked door. If he made it weird, it became weird. His brain was falling over itself to try and find an excuse as to why there was a locked room on the upper floor on his house.

‘Spare room,’ he said with a shrug, turning back to the cooker and hoping that that would be the end of it. Of course, being Elio he was talking to; it wasn’t.

‘Right, and this one just happened to be locked, compared to the other seven or however many you’ve got up there?’ asked Elio, his eyebrow raised, ‘Bit weird.’

He turned back to the gangly brunette sitting on the other side of the kitchen island; his limbs all over the place. He was still looking a bit peaky around the edges, with dark smudges under his eyes, the illness had taken it out of him, but he was definitely looking better than he had a few days ago. He needed to keep taking the antibiotics, but the virus was definitely on the outs.

‘You really wanna know?’ he said, the tip of his tongue burning with the truth; desperately wanting to tell him, but the other part of him so desperately afraid of what he would think. What if he rejected him as a person because of it? Would he be scared?

Why would he be afraid? Elio had never suggested that he was in the slightest bit intolerant, in any way, so why would this be any different?

‘Oliver?’

‘Huh?’ he said, tuning back to Elio’s nonplussed expression.

‘You kinda zoned out a bit there,’

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘What did you say?’

‘You asked me if I wanted to know – which by the way is a weird question about a door – and I said, sure, but you kinda zoned out.’

He nodded, ‘Yeah, right,’

‘So?’ he said, ‘Are you going to tell me or not? You know, the odder you act, the more scared I get!’

He chuckled, unable to help himself, ‘It’s not scary; just private.’

‘Okay, well now I’m just intrigued’ said Elio, leaning on his elbows, looking up at him.

He breathed out through his nose; he clearly wasn’t going to drop this.

‘Alright,’ he said, turning around and switching the hob off, ‘Whatever. It’s not a big deal.’

He walked out of the kitchen, knowing the other man would follow him. He’d left his jacket on the bottom bannister, and quickly pulled his keys out of the pocket. There was only one key for this room, and it was on this set of keys. He had wondered about having a spare, but decided that if he ever lost the key, he’d just replace the lock, rather than having a spare key floating around.

As his foot hit the bottom step, he was immediately overthinking his decision; he had been right, this room _was_ private. It was a space he shared with his partners, of which Elio was not one. It was a very personal part of him; regardless of the fact that he was a part of a community, and that there were many people who knew him and this part of him, sex was always going to be personal. He always felt _something_ for his partners; even if it was just a base chemical lust, there was always something there between them.

He supposed it had been the same with Elio. They’d had sex… often. And he’d wanted it, liked it, been drawn to him. They’d had something, like he’d said to Elio only a few nights ago, so why would be showing him this be any different?

He pushed the key into the lock, and turned it with a thunk.

‘Look, I was sort of kidding you know,’ said Elio coming up behind him, a nervous titter to his voice, ‘If you don’t know want me to know about, I don’t know, your secret doll collection, you don’t have to show me.’

Now that he’d come this far he didn’t want to let up, or let Elio off the hook. Sometimes curiosity killed the cat, and he guessed that this was one of those times. He smirked to himself.

‘It’s not a doll collection,’ he said, pushing the door open.

Elio looked up at him, and then into the room, which was pitch black.

Oliver walked in first, knowing the way without thinking about it.

‘There’s two steps down, watch it,’ he said, turning to Elio over his shoulder. The brunette came in, down the two steps, and Oliver flicked on the light.

He didn’t look at Elio; didn’t want to see his face as he was processing. Instead he walked over to one of the skylights that he’d had installed, and the blind flicked open, allowing the dimmest amount of what was left of twilight in, and the beginnings of moonrise. He could hear Elio slowly turn on the spot, clearly looking around the room. His feet made a noise on the soft matting as he turned. It was probably a minute before he spoke, with Oliver resisting the urge to turn and ask him what he thought.

‘It’s…. it’s a sex _dungeon_?’

He chuckled in the back of his throat, ‘The preferred term in the scene is playroom, actually. Dungeon sounds a bit creepy.’

‘Okay fine, _fine_ … whatever it might be called. You have a sex room… _in your house_?’

He turned around then, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Elio was standing three paces inside the room, looking quite small in his pyjamas and fluffy slippers, his mouth was slightly open, as his eyes flicked back and forward around the room, the walls, the floor. He knew what it looked like, and was more interested in keeping his eyes on Elio, as he tried to take in what was in front of him.

‘So now you know my secret,’ he said, with a shrug on his shoulder, ‘My dirty little secret.’

‘I would say this is a pretty big secret actually,’ said Elio, his eyes flicking upwards, and then back towards the bed.

‘Well it’s not a secret anymore,’ he said, ‘You know, my partners know. I guess that makes it information rather than a secret.’

‘It’s a lot to take in,’ said Elio, his eyes still flicking from left to right, his mouth not closing as he looked.

He looked at him carefully, trying to read if he was scared, or shocked.

‘We can talk downstairs,’ he said, gesturing towards the door, ‘It’s not the best place for a first conversation.’

Elio took a step towards one of the walls, where a myriad of floggers, crops, paddles, and an ornate cane hung, each on their own hook and loop. Elio’s eyes were fixed on it, looking from the handle to the end and back again. It was a harsh instrument, and one that Oliver only used very occasionally, and very carefully.

‘Can I just -,’

‘Don’t touch,’ he said sharply, as the brunette reached out a hand towards one of the floggers hanging at shoulder height. It was made of rabbit fur around the softest of leather; it was one of the gentlest floggers that he had. Elio drew his hand back sharply, his eyes flicking quickly to Oliver’s face.

‘Sorry,’

‘It’s alright,’ he said, ‘I know it’s interesting; or at least I assume it is to you, being as incurably curious as you are. But we’re not going to talk about it in here. Let’s go have some food.’

‘And I can ask you about it?’

He shrugged and nodded, ‘Sure. Whatever you want to know.’

‘Whatever I want to know?’ Elio confirmed, a small grin playing on his face, ‘Alright.’

**

‘So, how long have you been, y’know, doing this?’ asked Elio, after he’d swallowed a mouthful of the pasta he’d cooked. He’d refused to start talking about it whilst he was cooking, whilst he wasn’t wholly focused on the conversation and the questions Elio had. Now they were sat at a ninety-degree angle to each other at the kitchen table, he would answer.

‘Some years,’ he said, ‘It started when I was an undergraduate. I got introduced to the scene by an ex, found that I liked it, and it grew from there.’

‘And you’re a…. _Dom_? Is that the right word?’

‘What makes you think that?’ he asked.

Elio blushed very slightly, a small pink stain creeping up his neck towards his cheeks, ‘I don’t know, I guess I just assumed. The opposite of a Dom is a sub, right? You don’t strike me as very submissive…’

He smiled slightly, ‘Well in a sense you’re right. When I partake in the scene I am usually the Dominant partner, yes. Although I have been known to be a submissive in the past, in the right scene, with the right person. But that’s quite rare.’

He watched Elio as he very slowly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

‘And so you built your own playroom?’

‘It was easier that way,’ he said, ‘After I ended things with Eloise, I could explore in the privacy of my own home, safely, and with partners I trusted.’

‘That’s why you ended things? She wasn’t into it?’

‘She never knew.’

‘You didn’t tell her?’

‘I put that part of myself in a box when we were together, tried to tell myself that it wasn’t a real part of my identity. That it was just a phase I went through; but I wasn’t happy. With that and with other things. Stifling part of your identity is never a good idea.’

‘But you’re telling me?’

‘I trust you,’ he said with a shrug, ‘And anyway, who else would you tell, and why?’

Elio nodded, and continued eating, ‘You’re right. I’m not going to tell anyone. I wouldn’t do that.’

Oliver looked down, waiting for Elio to ask the questions that were bubbling away under the surface.

‘Is that who Nate was; your partner?’

‘One of my partners.’

‘One of?’

‘Yes. I have three people who I see. Although Nate is my most regular partner, yes. We have an agreement.’

‘Agreement?’

‘Yes; everybody who plays has an agreement between them before they begin. You never just start something with someone. It could be dangerous.’

‘So, Nate’s your sub?’

‘No,’ he said he said quickly, ‘No. We have an agreement when we play; I take the Dom role, and he takes a submissive role, but he is not _my_ submissive. That’s a different type of relationship. I don’t have a submissive.’

Elio made an ‘o’ with his mouth, but didn’t say anything.

‘It all seems quite complicated,’ Elio said.

‘It is, in a way,’ he said, ‘But that’s to be expected. It’s a culture that has built up over years and years; it’s going to have become complex. Also, because it’s so personal and so intimate, it has to be complicated. Between two people, and what they do together; it should be.’

‘Sounds intense,’ said Elio, breathing out.

‘It is,’ he said, ‘That’s why I do it. Partly.’

‘Why else?’ asked Elio.

‘It’s difficult to explain. First and foremost, I do it because I enjoy it, as do my subs and those I play with at clubs from time to time. The other is that takes a connection to the next level; the trust that a sub places in me, and the trust that I place in them… it heightens everything. The connection that I have with my partners is second to none. It’s more than just sex; sometimes it doesn’t even lead to sex. It depends on the scene.’

‘It’s not always about sex?’ asked Elio surprised, ‘I thought that was the whole point.’

Oliver shrugged, ‘Not always. Sometimes it’s about helping a sub let go of the life they have outside; to let them completely let go for the time that they’re with me. And I get to see that person get exactly what they desire. That’s extremely potent.’

Elio didn’t reply, but his mouth was hanging open very slightly, his breathing rate raised.

‘I can see the appeal,’ he said.

‘Hmmm,’ said Oliver, continuing to eat. Elio had eaten most of his, but had now placed his fork beside his plate.

‘But you didn’t tell me, last summer, when we were together.’

‘I didn’t want to scare you,’ he said, ‘It’s quite a lot for someone to deal with, and whilst it was intense, it was short. It takes a long time to introduce someone to it properly, and I didn’t want to give you half a taste.’

‘But you did anyway,’ said Elio quietly, ‘I knew there was a part of you that you were holding back from me; I just didn’t know what it was.’

He breathed in slightly, catching on the back of his throat, ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you, that wasn’t what I intend.’

Elio’s eyes narrowed slightly, ‘There’s no if about it Oliver.’

He sighed slightly, ‘I don’t know what to say that. I’m just so, so, sorry. Beyond what I could possible say. That’s why I said we shouldn’t in the first place; I knew that we would get hurt.’

Almost without him thinking about it, his hand slid a few inches across the table, so the tips of his fingers were just brushing Elio’s. Just the slightest touch of skin against skin, causing Elio to look down at both their hands. He paused just for a second before pulling his hand back, and placing it on his lap.

‘We? I don’t see you hurting all that much.’

‘Oh Elio, you have no idea; leaving you was one of the hardest things I have ever done.’

‘And yet you did it anyway,’ said Elio.

‘I didn’t think I had a choice; you were so young, it had been so short a time, I was still with Eloise -,’

‘Yeah alright Oliver,’ Elio said cutting him off, ‘I really don’t want to rehash this all over again. I’ve been over it in my mind several hundred times. Thank you for trusting me with this tonight.’

And with that he got to his feet, leaving his mostly eaten dinner behind him. Oliver let him go; there had been an awful lot to process for him tonight. If the boy slept on it, he might be more inclined to talk about it in the morning. He might even explain why he was here.


	9. You Might Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touch me... he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm watching CMBYN again, frame by frame. Drinking it all in. Can you tell? 
> 
> I don't know why, for some reason the film makes me nervous(?) - am I just complete weirdo for getting that sort of anxious knot?? Just because I know how it will end... Ah well, I guess that's why we write what we do. So it doesn't have to end that way. 
> 
> I clearly meant it when I said slow burn. Jesus, sometimes I feel like I don't even have control over my plot/characters, and they just dictate to me how things are going to go. 
> 
> Oh btw; I'm away for a week, so no updates for a bit. 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'You Might Think' by The Cars

He lay in bed looking at the ceiling, his mind whirling with everything he had seen, and everything Oliver had said to him tonight. He was tired, he was still recovering from his illness after all, and it had definitely taken it out of him; he could see it in his face when he’d gone to the bathroom before heading for bed; the dark smudges under his eyes, and the slight gauntness to his cheeks. And now he was lying here, waiting for sleep to take him into blissful unconsciousness. But his mind wouldn’t switch off and let him go.

He couldn’t believe that Oliver was into all _that_. When they’d been together, short as it had been, he’d been nothing but a caring lover, exciting at times, certainly bossy at times, but he’d never been what he would describe as _dominating_. He’d just been the assured, confident, and caring older lover. Open, relaxed; leading the way. Maybe that’s what it was all about to Oliver; being assured, being confident, delivering passion and desire to those he chose. Like some form of _Americano_ Bacchus. Oliver had shown him passion that… of course… he’d only dreamed of before that point. And he’d dreamed of it many times since. And now there was this… extra dimension to Oliver’s passion that he’d not known about for. He wondered if he’d dream about it tonight. Half of him hoped so, whilst the other half of him vehemently hoped that he didn’t.

Oliver had said they’d shared something special. He didn’t need the other man to tell him that; he knew. The way that there had been a practically electrical crackle between them the first time they’d clapped eyes on each other; the way that he’d spent weeks running away from the sensation because it scared the life out of him, whilst wanting to be near it at the same time. And when they’d kissed; it was as if everything suddenly made sense in the world, just for that moment. _You’ll kill me if you stop_. He’d believed that one of them had said that to the other; maybe both. And he knew it as well; when Oliver had left, he’d been sure that he would die from the pain of it. His dad had told him to feel it, and not hide it, because pain watered down tears away a part of person. And in a way he was right; he definitely wasn’t less of a someone because of the passion and the pain he’d felt for Oliver; he was more. He’d grown, he’d learned, and he’d changed. And then he’d gone away to college and… well, he didn’t want to think about that either right now.

So, he focused instead on the only other thing that had room in his brain at the moment; the fact that Oliver had a sex playroom in his house, that he had allowed him to see and be in. He was slightly scared to let his mind go there; he’d come here for a reason, Oliver still held an appeal for him. Of course he did. And if he let his mind imagine him in a space that was all about sex, dedicated to it, that was basically a temple to desiring the man, it was extremely dangerous.

Therefore he was torn between a rock and a hard place; in the most literal of senses. Since sleep was clearly eluding him he could either dwell on how he felt when Oliver left, and the mess he got himself into thereafter; or he could think about how he felt about Oliver in general, and the fact that a man he had desired, had felt something… _else_ for, had a playroom in his home. That he had occupied with other men, and possibly women; he knew Oliver was bisexual, did he play with women as well? He wondered what Oliver looked like when he was in the room with one of his partners; what would he wear? Or would they both be naked? Did he wear a mask? No, surely not. Why would he cover up his pretty face? Did he treat women differently to men?

His mind travelled away from Oliver himself and to the room itself. He’d only been there for a few minutes, and hadn’t really been able to take it all in. But what he had seen had interested him immensely. He didn’t understand it all, didn’t know what half of it was. Maybe he’d be able to ask Oliver, if he hadn’t shoved him away too hard tonight by telling him he didn’t want to talk about their shared past. The first thing he’d noticed had been the floor; he’d been expecting wood – an extension of the hallway perhaps – but instead it had been some sort of soft matting, slightly squashy underfoot. There’d been a couch along one wall, skylights in the ceiling, but no other windows. There was a bed against the back wall; it looked like a king size from his memory. There’d been a chest, a closet, and a sink. Then there had been the wall of floggers, paddles, and the cane. On the wall opposite they’d been an x shaped… something. He didn’t know what that was, or what it was for. If he thought about it, he assumed it was something that he tied his subs to, but he’d not taken too-closer-a look at it.

Oh, sorry, Oliver had said that he didn’t have _a sub_ , he just had partners. Elio wondered what that meant exactly; was there a difference between a partner and a sub? The partners Oliver played with clearly _were_ submissive, but they weren’t his? He couldn’t really ponder on this overly much, as he didn’t have any real clue as to what he was thinking about. His mind travelled around that room once more, but he couldn’t really remember much else; had there been bolts on the ceiling? That sounded intense; how did they get used? He was a tiny bit intimidated, and yet utterly intrigued by the idea at the same time. He’d only been in the room for a matter of minutes however, and the detail of it was slipping away from him like water in his hands. He’d have to ask Oliver if he could have another look; that’s if he wasn’t too annoyed by the way the conversation had turned at dinner. He hadn’t meant to shove him away; he’d just been hurt by Oliver’s insistence on talking about the day he left. He didn’t want to think about the day they parted.

Instead his mind wandered back; way back. To the very first time he laid eyes on Oliver, out of the window of the villa. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He’d been standing next to Marzia in the window, looking down at the driveway below. He’d seen the mint green car pull up, and out had stepped this giant with the easy charm and deep voice. He’d instantly felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him; how was the man so at ease with himself when around total strangers? He remembered his father had said something throw away about him being bigger than his picture; if he hadn’t been trying to drink in every atom of the man’s stature in that moment, he’d have rolled his eyes at the cliché nature of the statement.

And then he’d gone downstairs; following the sound of the deep voice and his father’s easy chatter. The man had been wearing dark beige slacks and a blue shirt; the sleeves rolled up past the elbow, paired with an off-white pair of Converse All Stars. He remembered wondering if he was overly warm in the Italian summer, and if he’d brought anything more suitable to wear other than trousers. Little did he know then about the shorts. _The shorts._ He couldn’t help but grin into his pillow in the dark. Oliver in shorts was a vision that would make even the Angel Uriah think about sinning. It had done the same to him, and to pretty much everyone who saw him like that think the same thing, with very few exceptions.

And yet, despite everything, the beginnings and the endings, here they were. What was here? Neither of them could deny what they’d shared, and how they’d shared it. Elio could see it in the way that Oliver’s eyes lingered on him from time to time as he moved, or the way he found himself watching the curve of Oliver’s bottom lip as he spoke. Also, _he’d goddamn said so_. Oliver had said he would help him, no matter what, that they’d had something special. And yet there was the issue of trust here; an issue that both of them were skirting around, like players on a chess board. There was no denying that Oliver had left him standing on a platform; ostensibly because he’d had no other option, but in reality, they both knew that that wasn’t the whole truth. And his heart had shattered because of it; he’d never felt more abandoned in his (then) seventeen years than he had on that day. He’d slowly put himself back together, unable to forget the way that the good times had felt, those being the reason that the bad times (the leaving) had felt so utterly unsurmountable. But in putting himself back together with tape, glue, and string, the methods of his mending were still visible. Both to himself and to Oliver. He was scared of breaking himself again; even if Oliver would let him try.

But he’d come here. He hadn’t even known where _here_ was when he was searching for a refuge, and his place to escape. His refuge had been a person, not a place, despite the hurt that had been caused. He knew it was a somewhat idiotic thought process to go through, but he hadn’t wanted to be defeated, to give up and go home – that felt like retreating to his childhood – and so his mind had grasped upon _Oliver_. The man whom he could not forget, even if he had wanted to. And Oliver had welcomed him… not quite with open arms, but with a protectiveness that he had seen a little last summer, but it had not been fully on display. Was that the side of himself he had been trying to suppress? Did that come with the territory of being… _a Dom?_ He guessed perhaps it did. He’d taken care of him, ensured that he had everything he needed.

Apart from one thing.

He could admit it to himself as he lay in the dark, with no one else around. He wanted Oliver to _touch him_. Not even, perhaps, in a sexual way. He just craved the feeling of his hand, like a puppy would lean towards his owner, craving the warmth of the palm. And not like the way he had at dinner, when his gesture had been conciliatory, or out of pity for his feelings. He wanted him to do things like put his arm around his shoulder, or pat him on the back, or rub the back of his neck. They were walking on eggshells at the moment around each other, trying to gauge what was real, what was not, what was memory, and what was present. When they’d shared a bed the other night, they’d taken one step forward. Again, there had been nothing to it, as such, but rather than leave as he said he might, he’d stayed the entire night. Not touching, just there.

It was as if what was between them was something solid, something physical, something they both knew about and could describe if asked, but that they didn’t want touch. Or didn’t dare to, just yet. Maybe he was imagining it; maybe he was the only one who could see it; who was yearning to reach out and feel it underneath his fingertips. But he wasn’t going to, not unless he knew Oliver would too. He wasn’t sure the tape and the glue would withstand that. So for now: no touching, just there.


	10. Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other thing was the taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo, 
> 
> I would say I'm sorry for the delay, but these apologies seem to be at the front of every chapter now, so I guess they're fast becoming meaningless! I hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this chapter. Once again, this story is just taking me where it wants to, rather than me stubbornly pushing it into a box. We shall what happens... 
> 
> Chapter Title = 'Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me' - album by The Cure. 
> 
> Hope you like! 
> 
> V  
> xxx

It was morning, and the house was quiet; Elio was still abed then – or at least in his room – when he unlocked the door to the room again. He didn’t know why he’d come back in here, he knew what this room looked like, had been in it many times since he finished it to the high spec that he’d demanded of himself when he designed it. Yet for some reason, he found himself opening the door, and flicking on the light, as if it might look different this morning. He’d drawn the blinds down over the skylights yesterday, leaving the room in darkness.

He’d been in this space for all of three minutes with Elio, and yet he couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to _really_ share the space with him. His eyes flicked over to the spanking horse, and to the St Andrews cross, and his mind – like an old television set – buzzed with the image of what Elio would look like, stretched across either of them. Tied up, awaiting to see what would happen next. The boy would be hard, of course, cock straining against his belly, waiting for his touch; blindfolded, wondering where the next touch or impact would come from.

Oliver gulped and shook his head. It had probably been a mistake to come in here; the images in his mind were running away from him, and he could definitely feel himself getting turned on. He turned away from the room and towards to door, and his mouth snapped shut into a thin line. Standing in the doorway was Elio. He looked sleepy, as if he had only woken up moments before. Yet, there was something about the set of his shoulders that said that he hadn’t stumbled in here purely out of curiosity to find him at this time in the morning.

‘What are you doing in here?’ Elio asked.

‘I could say the same to you,’ he said, still trying to will away the image of this very boy in this room in a variety of poses of his design.

‘I just woke up, came out of my room, and saw that the door was open; which was unusual,’ said Elio with half a shrug, his shoulders losing the tension that they had a moment before.

‘I shouldn’t have come back in here whilst you’re here,’ he said, ‘It’s not right.’

But rather than nod his head and acquiesce, Elio ignored his words, and took a step forward into the room. He wasn’t wearing slippers like he had been last night, his bare feet squished the matting under his toes. The slap of the sole of his foot against the material sounded almost like a challenge. He remembered, last summer, that Elio had liked looking at his feet, especially when he was running. It seemed like he was now thinking of the same things.

‘I didn’t get a proper look last night,’ Elio said gently, looking up at him, ‘May I?’

He considered for a moment before nodding, his throat dry. He could hardly say no without seeming like an unreasonable prick. In reality, he didn’t actually want to deny him access any part of his home; and really, he wanted to teach Elio a little bit about the world of which he was part. He wanted to see him in this room; to see how he reacted with the things in here.

‘Can I ask you about it?’

Again, another nod. He found himself watching the younger man carefully, as he saw the room in the daylight from the skylight shutters that he had opened.

‘Why is the floor matted?’ asked Elio, looking down at the way his toes made indents into the matting.

He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right before answering, ‘It’s because my partners spend a certain amount of time on their knees, and this was to make it as comfortable as possible. Cushions are slippy on a wood floor, so that wouldn’t be any good; carpet would be gross. Also, it’s easy to clean.’

Elio made a little ‘huh’ shape with his mouth, before looking up and pointing at the Saint Andrews Cross.

‘What’s that?’

‘A Saint Andrews Cross,’ said Oliver, ‘A submissive can be attached to it either facing the room or the wall.’

‘Completely bound?’

Oliver shifted again, being in here, with Elio asking these questions was doing nothing to quell the heat that was creeping through his body, and making it extremely difficult to avoid his baser instincts. If he was one for blushing, then the pink would be diffusing up his face; instead he could feel the muscle in his jaw working extra hard.

‘Can be,’ he said, ‘Or just the wrists, or just the ankles, or waist; or a combination therein.’

Another nod, as if Elio was doing nothing more than perusing items in the grocery store.

‘And the bench is used for -,’

‘Also used to tie submissives, usually bent over,’ he muttered, his throat thick, looking down at his own feet. He was wearing boat shoes, not something he usually wore in this room, he thought absurdly.

‘So you can fuck them?’ asked Elio, his voice almost sounding disinterested. His head shot up at the question, just to look at Elio’s face; he wasn’t looking at him, instead he was running his hand along the edge of the cushioned bench, his fingertips feeling the material. He would have believed the disinterested tone, if weren’t for the tiniest twitch of a muscle at the corner of Elio’s mouth; as if he was trying to hold in an outpouring of… well, something, that was for sure. He was sure it matched the muscle beside his own mouth; maybe Elio could see it.

‘Um, not always,’ he said, unsure of how he was supposed to answer that question, ‘Depends on the scene; sometimes there’s no fucking at all.’

Now it was Elio’s turn to look round, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline, ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ he said, ‘Sometimes sex isn’t the goal, or the purpose, of a scene.’

‘Huh,’ said Elio again, ‘That surprises me. So… why do it if it’s not all about sex?’

He chuckled despite himself, ‘It’s about a give and take between partners; about them giving up their control to me, and me testing their limits, whilst they know they’re secure and safe.’

‘If they know it’s totally safe, doesn’t that take the edge off?’

A corner of his mouth flicked up, ‘Safety is everything in BDSM. It’s why partners talk so much about scenes, limits, safewords, and what they will and won’t be doing. But, just because your brain knows that something is safe; doesn’t mean your body does. Somebody telling you that you can say ‘stop’ whenever you like, doesn’t stop the adrenaline from rising when you’re blindfolded and waiting for the next sensation.’

Elio’s mouth was open slightly, his bottom lip slightly wet with spit where his tongue had darted out to lick at the pink skin. It was then he made his second mistake; he allowed his eyes to drop from the emerald gaze of the boy, to his lip, and trace the curve of it from left to right. He was sure Elio had seen.

‘Sounds intoxicating,’ Elio murmured a moment later. Elio licked his lip again; this time his eyes followed the swipe of his tongue. He was, once again, sure that Elio had seen, and made the gesture utterly on purpose.

‘It is,’ he said, shrugging one shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling of the temperature going up in the room.  

Elio paused for a moment, considering him, before taking a step towards him, just inside the boundary of his personal space. He refused to take a step back. From this distance he could just about smell the scent that was uniquely _Elio_. He could see the fine hairs on his top lip. Every atom in his body was vibrating withholding the urge to move; but he couldn’t decide if it would be forward or back. He knew what he wanted to do, which was probably totally different to what he _should_ do.

He was reminded of a day when he was shin deep in icy cold water, _which came straight down from the mountains_ , when this boy stepped into his personal space and looked up into his face; challenging him. That was precisely what he was doing now; soft green eyes looking up into his. He considered for a moment how Elio’s eyes changed colour: at night when he was aroused they were darker, pooled with his desire; in the mornings they were softer, like they were now. They became soft like the moss found in forest in springtime. He could see the cogs turning in Elio’s brain, working behind his face, the challenge of his eyes and the tilt of his jaw. Daring him to feel the way he really wanted to; especially in this space.

He took a deep breath; the scent of sleepy Elio invading his senses. His pyjamas were utterly imbued with the smell of him in bed; and he could smell it when he was this close. He felt like a spark was running backwards and forwards between them, racing around a circuit, waiting for pressure to break.

And then just like he had that day at the berm, Elio surged towards him and kissed him deeply, capturing him half unaware, despite the proximity. His mouth capturing his own in a bruising kiss, demanding his response. And he couldn’t help but respond; biting that pouting bottom lip with a fervour that surprised him, causing Elio to hiss; to shoot his hands up and tug at the longer locks at the base of his neck. Oliver growled against his mouth, far too much teeth and tongue in this kiss for it to truly be called that. Instead it was an outpouring of frustration, and the bitterness of grief that perhaps they both felt. He could feel Elio begging him to kiss him harder, to pour every part of himself into this kiss and he tried, he really tried. He hoped that Elio could tell that he was trying.

The other thing was the taste. Elio tasted just like he remembered; like sunshine, mint, and his mind added in the peaches. But then there was something a little darker there now; what was that? He didn’t remember that being there last summer, just on the edge of his tongue, that tiny hint of bitterness.

He put his hands on the side of the boy’s face; feeling his jaw bone and sculpted cheeks, more pronounced than they had been last summer, as the last vestiges of the childlike features fell away from the face belonging to the adult Elio. He was elfin, and beautiful. His skin was still soft, and his lips warm. He wanted to go on kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him; to taste what his kisses felt like when he was tired, when he was bored, when he was playful, and when he was furious. He would be like a collector with an album, putting it all together. But then he remembered, where they were, and why Elio was here, and he suddenly stepped back, pushing the boy by the shoulder physically creating distance between them. He had to do that; to stop himself.

‘Stop, no, I shouldn’t,’ he said, taking another step back, and looking askance at the floor.

‘Why?’ said Elio, his voice almost lazy, unmoved from his position, ‘You clearly want to.’

He looked down at the front of his trousers, where the outline of his erection was clearly visible, a fact that Elio had obviously noticed. His jaw clenched again, and he turned away. Had he heard a note of accusation in Elio’s voice?

‘Why are you here, Elio?’ he asked through gritted teeth. Silence.

There was a pause that stretched a tad too long, and he wondered if Elio had left the room without him hearing, but when he looked back over his shoulder, he was still stood there. Somehow, he seemed to have shrunk; the cockiness of his early façade had dropped away and he looked a little lost.

He watched his swallow; watched the line of his Adam’s Apple bob up and down his throat.

‘It’s because you make me feel safe,’ Elio said, his voice small.

His brain scrambled for a minute, wondering why it had taken him so long to come up with that seven-word answer; ‘Is that true?’

 _Safe? Safe._ The word echoed around his mind, as much for its oddness, as for the way it had been said.

‘Yes,’ this time the reply was instant; ‘I didn’t feel safe where I was, so I came to somewhere where I would.’

He turned fully again, now that he had seemingly got himself back under control a little bit.

‘That’s a big responsibility Elio; a big commitment,’ he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, seeing if he could subtly rearrange himself. Probably not.

‘You don’t have to do anything more than you already do. It’s just you; as you are.’

‘As I am,’ he murmured back to him, their eyes meeting again, ‘Can I ask you what you needed to feel safe from?’

‘Maybe later,’ said Elio with a shrug.

‘And one more thing; are you safe now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Definitely.’

He breathed out through pursued lips, a tightness in his chest loosening with those words.

‘That’s good. That’s enough for me to know, now,’ he said; clearly the boy didn’t want to tell him too much, or couldn’t. It was just enough to know he was safe.

Elio nodded and then held out his hands, palms up; ‘Can you hold me?’

His response this time was immediate. He stepped forward and enveloped the boy in a hug, letting him feel his arms around him, holding him tightly. If he needed to feel safe, then he would do his damnedest to make sure that that was the case when he was with him. He dropped his nose into the curls on the top of Elio’s head, smelling the sleepiness, but also his shampoo that he had borrowed. He felt the boy’s arms around him, and his cheek resting on his shoulder blade, breathing in the warmth of another human just holding him in an embrace. He didn’t know how long they stood there, just holding each other, gently swaying to the rhythm of each other’s breathing.

He swore that he heard Elio whisper ‘thank you.’


	11. One Way Or Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yes._

They were downstairs. He’d followed Oliver downstairs at his suggestion that he would make breakfast for them both. Now he was watching as Oliver poached eggs to go on top of the toast that was currently in the grill. He liked the longer hair that the blond had now; now that he had kissed him again, he could fully appreciate that fact, as he had tangled his fingers in it. His eyes dropped a little lower, to the broad shoulders, and muscles at the top of his back. He’d always liked Oliver’s back; strong and powerful. When he swam, he liked to watch the way the muscles moved under the skin, creating powerful strokes through the water. Then further down, to the taper of Oliver’s waist and hips. Not too defined, as he was not by any means skinny, but still a little bit of shape before the swell of his ass; today encased in jeans. Last summer, Elio thought he would have been able to write a love letter to Oliver’s ass. Now it was all he could do but stare. Then of course there were the miles and miles of legs; ending in his size god-knows-what-feet. Well, you know what they say… big shoes, big socks, big… That was certainly true. He grinned to himself.

Elio could see why others were drawn to him as this, _Dominant._ Even though he had never experienced that side of him explicitly, there was a power to Oliver that could not be denied. A surety to the way he moved, and the way he spoked. His mother had deemed him _la muvi star_ , or _il cauboi_ , depending on her mood. His father had called him shy. Could you be shy, but sure? Shy, but confident? Surely the two were anathema? You could not be one along with the other. Maybe he used his surety to cover up his shyness, before his true self came to the fore with those he truly trusted? That easy going and yet deeply complex man whom he had seen in those last two heady weeks, when he had fallen head over heels in love. He had never denied that, and he didn’t think Oliver had either.

And less than thirty minutes ago, they had kissed. He hadn’t just kissed Oliver; Oliver had kissed him back. He’d felt that need within him, that desire to keep going, to not pull back the way that he had; to keep kissing him, and kissing him, and _kissing him_. He wished that he hadn’t; perhaps they’d be having sex by now. He felt the briefest of curls of pleasure shoot through his lower belly at the thought, a shot of desire down his spine. He couldn’t help but grin; he’d been spoiled by Oliver last summer. The few fumbles he’d had with people of his choice since hadn’t been anywhere near as good. Whether that was because he had someone else on his mind at the time, or simply because of the difference in experience, he didn’t know. He just remembered the skill in which Oliver was able to take him apart and then put him back together again, in the manner of his choosing, each time he took him to bed.

There was a clatter and then a flump that denoted the post being pushed through the letterbox. It was Saturday, so Violet wouldn’t be around at any point in the day to sort it.

‘I’ll get it,’ he said, pushing back his chair with a scrape and heading into the hallway.

There was a fair pile on the doormat, and he scooped the lot up into his arms to take back into the kitchen to sort through. Obviously, none of it would be for him, but he could at least surmise which items might require Oliver’s attention first, and which were simply junk mail.

What surprised him, however, when he had put the top three items into a pile that he’d mentally labelled as “junk,” was that that there _was_ an item for him, with an official printed address.

‘Huh,’ he said aloud as Oliver plated up the food, ‘That’s odd, something for me.’

‘It’ll probably be from the doctor’s office,’ Oliver said, his back still turned, ‘I told them to send the results of all the tests I had them do here for you.’

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘Well, that makes sense.’

Oliver put a plate of food down in front of him, along with a cup of black tea, as he tore open the envelope with no finesse.

He scanned the list of tests that Oliver had asked the doctor to run; _bloods, sexual health, urine, respiratory_ etc. etc. He remembered that he’d spent a long time being prodded by the doctor, and that Oliver had said he might as well be thorough and do all the tests that were part of a regular medical, seeing as the man had come out to see him.

‘Everything alright?’ asked Oliver, catching his eye over the top of the letter.

He reread down the list, actually taking in what it said. All clear, apart from a note regarding the infection next to respiratory (clearly that had now been sorted by the prescribed antibiotics), and another note next to his bloods saying he was slightly anaemic, but nothing that warranted worry or any form of prescription. Clear, all clear. He let out a sigh of relief he didn’t realise he was holding. Silly, really.

‘All fine,’ he said, and passed the list to Oliver and then joked, ‘Nice to know I don’t have syphilis.’

‘Well… they were doing a full medical,’ said Oliver with a shrug, glancing at the letter, ‘Might as well know, right? I get a full medical done every six months, and see that my partners do the same. It’s just good practice.’

‘Oh, so you were treating me like you would one of your partners?’ he said with a grin.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Oliver quickly, pushing the letter back over at him, ‘Anything interesting for me?’

‘Couple of junk items, a postcard, and something that looks like it’s from a publisher…’ he said, handing the sorted pile over to the other man, one handed, as the in the other he was holding his fork for eating.

‘Oh hopefully that will be my advance for my next book; or at least part of it,’ said Oliver, opening it, ‘I’ve been waiting for this to come through.’

‘Sorry, _next_ book?’ he asked around a mouthful of eggs, ‘You’ve not finished this one yet, have you?’

‘Not quite,’ said Oliver ruefully, ‘But yes, that’s what it is. Excellent.’

‘How can you get an advance for your next book whilst you’re still working on this one?’ he asked.

‘By being very persuasive and a huge flatterer to the right people,’ said Oliver with a grin, ‘But really it was because I’ve nearly finished up the last edits, so I’m pretty much done, and there was too much material to go into one volume, so it made sense to commission a second.’

‘That’s awesome! Does my father know?’

‘No, actually, I’ve not told him. D’you think he’d want to know?’

‘He’d be really happy for you. I think that’s ace.’

‘Thanks, Elio,’ said Oliver, his voice soft. Elio risked flicking his eyes up from his plate to the gaze of the other man and saw that his eyes were as soft as his voice had been, the calm azure blue that he had studied so many times. He swallowed the last mouthful of his food without chewing properly, and began to cough with the effort.

‘Perhaps _don’t_ inhale your food,’ teased Oliver, after he had recovered with a gulp of the warm tea standing by his hand.

‘Yeah, it’s not a good idea,’ he said, voice somewhat croaky. He randomly thought of an aside that his father had told him once; that if someone could speak when they were coughing or choking, then they weren’t in any immediate danger of asphyxiation. Someone who could speak, could breathe. It was those who weren’t able to speak who were in real trouble. Quite a maudlin thought, he mused, before noting that Oliver had also finished eating.

‘Can we go out today?’ he asked.

‘Um, sure,’ said Oliver, his eyes flicking to the window, which showed a bright, if cold, spring day, ‘Why, got something in mind?’

‘Not especially,’ he said, ‘I just feel like I’ve been in the house for days, and it would be nice to get out for a bit. As beautiful as your home is, I’m starting to get cabin fever.’

Oliver chuckled, ‘Being ill will do that to you.’

‘Yeah well, I’m better now; so… let’s go out!’

‘Alright,’ he said, ‘But you’re not completely better, and I don’t want you getting sick again – so I’ll make sure you’ve got enough layers before we set foot outside.’

He rolled his eyes, ‘Gods, your worse than my mother.’

Oliver laughed, ‘No, I just know New England early spring, and I want to make sure you don’t freeze to death. You made a good job of attempting it yourself, and I’m not going to let you try again.’

‘Alright, alright,’ he said, feigning annoyance. In reality it was just nice that Oliver cared enough to put his foot down with him.

**

‘Where are we going?’ he asked as they parked up in the small town nearby. He’d caught the bus through here, after asking at the airport whether the town was near the address he had written down, and how to get there by public transport, so vaguely recognised some of the streets in passing.

‘Nowhere special,’ said Oliver, ‘Just a coffee shop, and then I thought we could get you some new clothes; you’ve only got a few, and mine are fine around the house, but you’ll probably want something else.’

He blushed a little, ‘Err, I haven’t got much money.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Oliver, ‘Your dad wired me some; figured I’d need it once you showed up.’

He blushed again, embarrassed that his father had thought about how to look after him, in a monetary sense, without first asking him. He knew that he meant well, sending the money to Oliver, but still, it made him feel immature and slightly hurt.

‘I won’t get much,’ he said reasserting himself, ‘But I could do with a couple of t-shirts and boxers.’

‘Yeah, that’s one thing you don’t want to be tying up at the waist to fit,’ teased Oliver with a grin as they walked up the high street, ‘Coffee first though?’

‘Sure,’ he said, ‘See whether they have a better blend than what you have at home.’

‘Hey!’ said Oliver, ‘Just because I don’t have the _Italiano_ standard, doesn’t mean it’s not any good.’

He grinned and grimaced up in Oliver’s direction, ‘It could be better though, couldn’t it?’

Oliver made a noise somewhere close to a _tcach_ , and gave him a little shove. Elio couldn’t help but burble with laughter, both at the teasing and at the touch. This is what he loved, when Oliver felt comfortable enough to casually reach out and touch again.

The coffee shop was warm, with a real log burner in the corner, throwing out heat from the flickering flames.

‘What do you want?’ asked Oliver, gesturing to an empty table, ‘I’ll go,’

‘Um… can I have an _Americano,_ with hot milk?’

If any thought had occurred to Oliver about the double meaning of the word, he kept his face strictly impassive as he nodded, before heading to the counter.

Elio sat back in the squishy armchair and looked around the place. It wasn’t that busy; being the midmorning of a weekday, but people were drifting in and out at regular pace, all with the same sort of easy going look that came with small town life. He wondered whether Oliver actually liked it here, or whether it was just where he had ended up. He had a choice though, he reminded himself, he didn’t have to come back here.

There were two men sitting in the window at a right angle to one other, one listening to a cassette player with large headphones, the other reading a book. They were both slouched a little in their seats, a couple of cups each in front of them; clearly they had been here for a while. The arm of each person closest to the other was hanging from the seat, and their little fingers were just very loosely hooked together. Elio wasn’t even sure that they were aware they were touching; but that they were such a picture of comfort that they had drifted towards this point of contract without even realising. He smiled and hoped that he could find something like that someday.

‘Here you go.’

His attention snapped back to the table as Oliver came back carrying a tray, with both their drinks.

‘I also got you a chocolate and caramel chip cookie; thought you might like something sweet,’ Oliver said.

‘Am I not sweet enough already?’ he asked with a grin, taking his cup off the tray, along with the little jug of milk; ‘I’ll share it with you.’

‘I don’t really think I should -,’

‘Oliver, I’m not eating that whole thing on my own; it’s the size of a hubcap,’ he said pointedly.

Oliver chucked, ‘Alright fine,’

The taller man folded himself up into the armchair next to his and leaned forward to break the cookie in half.

‘Thanks,’ Elio said with a soft smile as he put half on his plate.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Oliver with a gentle smile in return.

**

It was later, they’d done the clothes shopping after finishing their coffee, and returned home. Now they were sitting in the lounge. He had his feet thrown over the arm over the sofa, with his head on a cushion, as he continued reading the book he’d picked up from Oliver’s study. He wasn’t really concentrating, though. Instead he was busy working up the courage to ask something of the other man, who was sitting at an ornate writing desk in the corner, going over some of his edits. He’d been deep in thought for about forty minutes, and the only noise had been the occasional turning of a page, or the scratch of his pencil. Elio glanced at the strong back, facing away from him, and couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin, remembering what that back looked like, naked, without accoutrements, watching the muscles moving underneath the tanned skin as Oliver swam in their tiny piece of _heaven_. He loved Oliver’s back. He loved his arms. He could go on.

‘Oliver?’

His mouth moved before his brain had caught up.

‘Yeah?’

Oliver turned and twisted in his seat, looking across at Elio.

‘Uhh,’ now that he’d started, he couldn’t well stop, ‘I want to do a scene with you.’

Whatever Oliver had been expecting him to say it wasn’t that, and his mouth dropped open. He stuttered for a moment, his eyes wide.

‘You don’t understand what that means,’ he said quietly, so quiet that Elio almost didn’t hear him.

‘So show me,’ he said, his hands turned palm up. Oliver turned the chair around fully.

‘You’re too young, too inexperienced,’ said Oliver, a slow shake of his head.

‘How old were you when you were first introduced to this?’ he asked.

‘Eighteen,’

‘Hmmmmm.,’ he said, not stating the obvious that that was the same age he was now. Oliver shifted uncomfortably, looking around for some kind of argument.

‘It’s not that, then… You don’t just _don’t know_.’

‘I wasn’t too young last summer, to know that I wanted you. To know that I could cross an ocean and you would help me. To know that what we had shared was precious. You said it, it was _special_. And you felt it; you felt it this morning when we kissed. Whatever “it” is, it didn’t go leave when you left me, it never left. I can’t just walk away, and I don’t think you want to either. So don’t.’

That speech took him by surprise; he hadn’t meant to say that much, or to say those words in that particular order. But now that he said it, he realised he meant it; he would stand by every word.

Oliver was surveying him; his mouth still open slightly, making him resemble a slightly dumbfounded goldfish. But he could see the other man thinking, every thought whizzing behind his eyes and the wheels turning in his mind.

Time stretched on, as he waited for some kind of response, wondering if Oliver was about to explode in anger. Every muscle in his body was tight as he waited for Oliver’s answer.

‘Okay.’

It took a moment for him to realise what Oliver had said, but then he scrambled around to that he was kneeling up on the couch, staring at him.

‘Really?’

Oliver swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so, and then he nodded.

‘Yes, I’ll do a scene with you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. 
> 
> Here we go. 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'One Way Or Another' by Blondie


	12. Just Like Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Softness... and _spikes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy, 
> 
> This chapter was quite difficult to write, but I hope you like it! I initially wanted to fit the "scene" and the after talk in the same chapter, but it just got way too long, so I had to cut it off. 
> 
> Anyhoo, let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who has commented so far, it really means so much to me. 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'Just Like Heaven' by The Cure. 
> 
> V  
> xxx

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands intently; the nails and the cuticles, probably more intently than he had for years. Years of piano playing had made his fingertips hard, used to constant movement on one instrument or another. It gave him something to focus on other than his nerves. He couldn’t even think about why he _was_ nervous; he was going to be with Oliver, he trusted Oliver, that’s why he’d come here in the first place. And Oliver had said _yes_. He honestly had not expected that answer to his question; he’d expected a fight on his hands, but instead Oliver had only put up the flimsiest of fights, and since had confessed to Elio that he was interested in showing him a little bit of his lifestyle. That was yesterday at dinner.

After Oliver had said yes, he’d had been a ball of energy, and had asked him “what now?”. Oliver had chuckled and told him to be patient, that he needed to time to think of what he was going to do, what he was going to show him. He didn’t want to ask if the scene was going to involve sex; that seemed so crude when Oliver had spent so long explaining the higher aspects of his lifestyle. It seemed to be about so much more than sex.

So, that was how he had arrived here. Oliver had told him this morning that they would do the scene this afternoon, after a good lunch and a shower, and a chance to rest. Elio had briefly thought it was distinctly unsexy, like the going through the items on a grocery list, but he had bitten his tongue, and vowed to see how it would unfold. After lunch Oliver had told him to take a shower, and then go for a rest, and he would come and get him at about three o clock. He hadn’t specifically mentioned any particular cleaning/shaving/primping he expected him to do when he was in the shower, so Elio had just washed thoroughly, like he was hoping he might get lucky or something, he thought with an eyeroll.

Oliver had told him to wear something comfortable. It sounded to him that for all the world they were going to do some kind of workout, rather than engaged in some daring sexual activity. Once again, however, he’d done as he was bid. He hadn’t been able to rest, of course, he’d laid down for a while, staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come. Now it was nearly three, and he was sat up, facing away from the door, wearing sweatpants, boxers, and a loose t-shirt. He didn’t put on any shoes or socks because he figured that he wouldn’t need them in the room, with the matted floor.

He spine stiffened when he heard the door click open, and his skin tingled in anticipation.

‘Ready?’

It was Oliver who spoke, but also not Oliver. Even without turning around Elio could hear something was different, his voice seemed lower somehow, and his voice was soft, sounding like silk.

‘Yeah,’ he said, standing up and turning with a weak smile on his face. This was quickly transformed into a look of amazement, as his jaw dropped towards the floor and his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. Oliver was dressed like a wet dream. He was wearing tight leather pants, with a laced crotch, leather boots that stopped midcalf, and a loose white dress shirt, open at the collar, so he could just see a tuft or two of chest hair. He looked so hot that Elio thought for a moment he might have a coronary.

‘Sure?’

Oliver was giving him the opportunity to back out, but he was ready. He rearranged his features into some kind of neutrality, despite being unable to let his eyes keep raking across Oliver’s form several more times.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he said.

‘Alright then,’ said Oliver, ‘Follow me.’

He nodded and walked around the bed, following Oliver out of the room. It was only a few doors along the corridor to the playroom, so it only took a matter of moments before they were at the door.

‘Alright,’ said Oliver turning towards him, ‘When we enter the room, we will be ‘in scene.’ Take a deep breath, try and calm your nerves.’

Elio nodded and did as he was bid. Oliver unlocked the door and pushed it open. He flicked on the lights, but dimmed them, so the room was softly lit. He followed him into the room.

‘Please take off your shirt and your trousers, leave your boxers on. Fold your clothes and put them on the sofa. Then return and stand in front of me.’

Elio did as he was bid, despite being slightly confused at the _don’t take your boxers off._ Wasn’t he supposed to be naked for this sort of thing? Anyway, he did as he was told and returned to stand in front of Oliver, looking at him for the next bit. Oliver surveyed him from top to bottom, making his skin tingle again, and his cock twitch in interest. He tried to ignore it. For some reason, he didn’t want to get hard right now.

‘Please kneel,’ said Oliver.

He did as he was bid, slowly sinking to his knees, so that his eyes were level with Oliver’s thighs. He instantly felt vulnerable, even though he knew Oliver would never do anything with intent to cause harm. Being on his knees in front of this man made his heart rate pick up.

‘Now, before we go any further, we need to establish your safe words,’ Oliver said, still using that voice that made Elio’s skin tingle.

‘Safe words?’

Oliver shifted from foot to foot, but didn’t say anything quickly, but then spoke clearly, ‘Yes, if the activity is too intense, or you want me to slow down or stop, then you need words to let me know. ‘No’ and ‘Stop’ won’t do, because sometimes you might say those words in reaction to what is happening without actually meaning them. Therefore, we pick words that you won’t have cause to say, other than as safe words. People new to this often use what is known as the traffic light system – green, yellow, and red. I will often ask you what colour you are feeling; green is “yes, I like that, keep going,” yellow is “please slow down, or bring down the intensity of what you are doing,” if you say red, I will stop the scene immediately and cease all activity. Do you understand that?’

He listened carefully, ‘Yes, yes, that’s fine. I’ll use that system.’

‘Good,’ said Oliver, ‘Second, some rules of this room. When we are in here, I am the Dominant and you are in the submissive. You will call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’, whichever you prefer. I will refer to you as ‘Pet’.’

Elio opened to his mouth to say something, but Oliver spoke over him, ‘You will not speak unless I ask you a question, or I give you an instruction that you did not understand, in which case you can ask me to repeat what I have said. Also, you will not look me in the eyes, unless I tell you otherwise.’

‘What?! I can’t look at you?’ asked Elio, looking up immediately, realising instantly that he’d broken two of those rules already. He blushed as soon as he realised this. He didn’t want to disappoint him, or get it wrong. He knew this was important to Oliver, so therefore it was important to him as well.  

Oliver looked down at him calmly, ‘Eyes down, pet.’

 He baulked for a moment, but then took a deep breath and lowered his eyes back to looking at Oliver’s booted feet.

‘When you come into this room, you will remove the clothes I ask you to remove, and adopt this position, unless I instruct otherwise. A few corrections to be made, which you will remember for next time.’

He walked around him them, purposefully correcting his posture. He straightened his back, and pushed his knees slightly further apart, so that he could kneel more comfortably, without his feet starting to tingle. His hands were clasped on the top of his thighs.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘Are you comfortable pet?’

He wasn’t sure he liked Oliver calling him “pet,” but he bit his tongue to stop himself from saying so.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Yes, what?’ prompted Oliver gently.

‘Yes, Sir,’ he said, blushing again as he remembered. Oddly, as much as he wasn’t sure he was keen on Oliver calling him _pet,_ he didn’t mind calling Oliver _Sir._ It seemed to fit well, particularly to this slightly different Oliver. This leather-clad, slow, clipped-speech Oliver.

‘That’s good pet,’ he said, ‘For today, I will remind you once of the rules if you break them. A second infringement will result in punishment.’

Elio’s eyes shot up again at the word “punishment”; he really wasn’t sure about that. That did not sound like something he wanted to get on board with; he thought that this was supposed to be fun? Who said anything about being punished?

‘Eyes down,’ said Oliver gently, before he resumed what he had been saying, ‘If you ever find yourself in this room again will me, there will not be a second chance. Rules broken will result in punishment. If you deliberately disobey me without using your safe words, then there will be punishment. I am the Dominant in this room, and you will respect that. I will decide what punishment may be necessary after the conclusion of a scene. Oftentimes punishment will be delivered the following day to a scene, or before we play the next time, as a scene may be too intense to administer punishment directly after.’

He couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose on his skin at the slow, measured deepness of Oliver’s voice. He nodded to show that he had understood. His cock twitched again, beginning to harden in his boxers. He was still looking at Oliver’s thighs; encased in that soft buttery leather. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, but he knew that that would be an infraction of the rules. He kept his hands folded in his lap.

‘Do you understand everything I have told you so far?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ he said, catching himself just in time to add the sir.

‘Do you wish to proceed? I will not hold it against you if you do not, and that you wish to leave this room without completing a scene. Shall we continue?’

‘Yes sir, please,’ he said, almost instantly. He hadn’t come this far to back away now.

‘Good. So, we shall begin.’

He shivered despite himself. He watched under his lashes as Oliver walked over to the wall and removed his dress shirt, hanging it on a peg; that strong back and torso coming into view. He had to bite back a moan at the view of him shirtless in those sinful leather pants. Anywhere but here, he would be climbing him like a tree. Oliver turned, and Elio noted the cut abdominal muscles that he had admired so much last summer. They were more defined now; the other man had clearly been working out more. He so badly wanted to touch, to appreciate.

‘I am going to tie your hands together behind your back,’ Oliver said, approaching him with a length of what looked like black, soft rope, ‘Stand.’

He did so, trying to remember to keep his eyes lowered, when all he wanted to do was to follow Oliver’s movement as he walked around his body to stand behind him. Oliver ran his free hand down from one shoulder to his wrist, moving his hand behind his back, so it was resting just above his ass. He had jumped at merely the touch of Oliver’s fingers on his skin; the warmth of his hand.

‘Keep your hand there.’

He did the same with his other hand, before he began looping the rope around them in what felt like quite an intricate knot.

‘Your skin looks so beautiful next to this rope pet,’ murmured Oliver in his ear, ‘Pale next to the dark. Gorgeous.’

He couldn’t help but preen slightly at Oliver’s words, wanting to lean into his praise.

‘Please test the bindings, can you break free?’

He tried to pull his wrists apart, or twist his hand out of the knot, but he couldn’t, he was stuck.

‘Is it too tight? Is it hurting your fingers or your wrists?’

He could definitely feel the rope against his skin, and he was pretty sure that it would leave an indentation, but other than that -,

‘No, Sir, it doesn’t hurt.’

‘Good,’ said Oliver, moving away from him momentarily. He didn’t move as the other man was fetching something else.

He loved the idea of the marks from the rope being on his skin; he hoped they would last until tomorrow at least. He wanted to be able to look at them properly. The thought made a curl of desire pool in his lower belly.

‘I am now going to blindfold you.’

He could feel the heat of his desire creeping up his body, almost certainly turning his chest rosy coloured, warming his skin. They had barely even started, and just the action of Oliver tying his wrists had taken his dick from interested to ready to go. Oliver had not said anything about sex or an orgasm, however, so he tried his best to ignore it.

Then his world went dark, as Oliver tied a blindfold over his eyes, securing it at the back of his head. Now he was purely relying on his hearing, and any touch to his body.

‘Can you see anything pet?’

He shook his head.

‘Verbal answers, please, pet,’ Oliver prompted.

‘No sir, I can’t see anything.’

‘Good. Please remain standing and still. Do not move.’

At least he didn’t have to look down anymore, now that his vision was obscured. Not that he could see anything anyway. He closed his eyes, and let the darkness wash over him, keeping his breathing slow. He could feel Oliver watching him, as the seconds crept on, wondering what he was going to do next. After about a minute he shifted from one foot to the other, wondering when the other man might do something. Another thirty seconds and he opened his mouth slightly, as if to say something, but then thought better of it, and shut it again. Where had Oliver gone? Time slipped on; he didn’t know how long he’d been stood here. He hadn’t heard him for at least a minute now. He was still in the room wasn’t he? He hadn’t heard him leave. Surely he wouldn’t leave him here like this? He felt his heart rate going up slightly, and he fought the desire to take the blindfold off and look around, his fingers twitching within the knot that his hands were tied in. How long was this going to go on? He shifted again, trying to decide whether to move. What if it was all a joke? And he had decided to just do this to him to teach him a lesson about not asking him things like this? He bit his lip from making a noise at the thought; surely Oliver wouldn’t be so cruel?

And then Oliver’s hand was on his shoulder, slowly stroking from one side to the other, and back again. He let out a rush of breath at the touch, and almost felt a prickle of tears behind his still closed eyes in sheer relief.

‘Calm, pet,’ he said soothingly, his hand just stroking his skin, up and down his back, and then across, ‘Deep breaths.’

He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, calming himself down once more. Of course Oliver hadn’t left him; that had been a stupid thing to think, he wouldn’t do that to him. Oliver left his hand on the skin of his back, letting him ground himself in the touch.

When his breathing and heartrate had returned to normal he felt something else brush across his skin; this time his belly. It was soft, so soft. He couldn’t decide if it was fur or feathers. He gasped as the softness was replaced by something sharp and prickly; the change in feeling made his abdomen clench. It didn’t _hurt_ , exactly, because it was being pressed very gently, but it was definitely uncomfortable. Then the softness was on his upper thigh, and then the other, before moving back to his belly. Then the spikiness was back and he let out a hiss. He hadn’t been expecting that; he’d been expected the softness again, and his body twisted slightly to get away from the sensation, but he didn’t move his feet. It was only for a moment and then it was soft again. Then spikes.

‘Ah!’ he couldn’t help himself let out the exclamation. Not knowing what was coming next was challenging; his brain didn’t know whether to tell his body to clench or relax, so sometimes it was trying to do both at the same time. He cursed himself for speaking, however, and wondered if Oliver would punish him. His muscles were tense, waiting for the next sensation.

‘What’s your colour, pet?’

‘Green,’ he said instantly. He didn’t want this to stop.

‘You may cry out, or make noise, as long as you don’t talk,’ said Oliver, almost as if he had read his earlier worries.

The softness trailed around his back, and then down his sternum. He was on edge waiting for the sharpness of the spikes.

‘Gorgeous pet,’ breathed Oliver, ‘Your body’s reactions are mine to control.’

He couldn’t do anything but huff out a breath mixed with a moan, as he felt the spikes back on his upper thigh, slightly harder this time, definitely on the border between uncomfortable and pain. It felt like tiny brambles repeatedly rolling over his skin as Oliver moved whatever it was. The two opposing sensations were messing with his brain as he tried to focus on something, but as there was no pattern he had no idea what to expect next; the softness or the scratch. His cock was hard as rock and leaking a wet patch of precome into the front of his boxers as his knees shook slightly. He needed to come. It had been less than ten minutes and he was already a mess of different senses.

The endorphins being released in response to the now painful scratches of the implement being rolled across his skin were making him pant a little. He wanted to lean into Oliver, but he wasn’t sure where the man was standing, as his touch seemed to be everywhere all at the same time; spikes, softness, softness, spikes, spikes, spikes, softness. He had no idea what to expect, and his body was almost vibrating with the differing touches.

And then they stopped.

‘I’m going to remove your boxers,’ said Oliver, ‘Colour?’

‘Green, sir,’ he said softly.

He felt Oliver slide the material down his legs, his hands stroking his calves, and at his instruction lifted one foot and then the other, so he could remove them. Now he was utterly naked to Oliver’s gaze, and he assumed the other man was still clothed. He shivered at the thought; there was something so intoxicating about being under his gaze, where he held all the cards, all of the power. Then he felt the softness on the swell of his ass, and he let out a breathy moan, knowing what was coming. He didn’t want to feel the spikes on that sensitive skin, but at the same time he craved to know what it was going to feel to like. Oliver didn’t keep him waiting long, and he hissed as he felt the spikes roll across the tender skin of his ass and around to the very tops of his thighs, where they met his pelvis. Next there was the softness where the crease of his butt met his thigh; that was nice. That area was so sensitive to the touch and -,

‘Fuck!’ he couldn’t help but let out he exclamation as the spikes went to that very area, making him flinch. The implement was removed after a moment with the softness coming back.

‘Colour, pet?’

He huffed for a moment, his heartrate speeding after feeling the sharpness on so sensitive a part of his body, ‘Green, sir.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, his mouth close to his ear, ‘I’m going to untie your hands, and I give you permission to touch yourself, but you are not to cum until I say you can, if I say you can. Understand?’

‘Yes sir,’ he agreed instantly. He was slightly disappointed that it wasn’t going to be Oliver that was touching him, but his cock definitely didn’t care as it strained stiff against his belly.

He felt Oliver loose the ropes around his hands and then they were free.

‘So beautiful pet, all red and marked with the rope I twisted,’ Oliver practically growled.

Elio moaned, at the thought, still unable to see them for himself. He ran one hand around his own wrist, feeling the indentations of the rope, which made his cock throb and pulse. Oliver had put those marks there.

‘Can I touch myself, sir?’ he asked, deciding it was best to double check.

‘Yes, pet,’ Oliver said.

He took hold of himself with a well-practiced hand, letting the precome weeping freely from the head of his cock slick the way somewhat.

‘So good, pet,’ said Oliver, ‘Doing what I say, your body mine, an instrument to play.’

He sped his hand up at Oliver’s words, unable to help himself as he felt pleasure tingling in his feet and up his thighs. He was panting and the heat from his skin was radiating and then -,

‘Ooooh!’ he flinched even at the touch of the softness to the crease of his groin, his body prepared for the touch of the spikes to that area too, but it never came, the tenseness increasing the adrenaline running through his form. Then the spikes were on his ass, matching the softness against his groin, the fur occasionally brushing against his cock. He was so hard he felt like he might pass out as his hand delivered pleasure akin to that which he’d never felt when just touching himself. He swiped his thumb under the head of his cock, and stars bloomed behind his eyes.

‘Please sir,’ he whimpered, ‘I need to cum.’

‘Not yet, pet. Only when I say so.’

He was practically shaking at the effort of holding back, his mind awash with everything he was feeling, the tightness in his belly. He panted away his instant need to cum, trying to be good, trying to hold himself back for Oliver. He wanted to be good, he really did.

Then he felt Oliver step up behind him; the soft buttery leather of his pants felt against his ass. He could feel that Oliver was hard, through the material of his pants, and he moaned at the thought. Oliver held his hips with both his hands, pulling him flush against him; muscled chest, leather pants, against his completely naked body, being held by the stronger, bigger man.

‘You may cum now pet.’

That was all he needed, and he came with a cry, his release leaking through his fingers as his whole body shook with the intensity of his release, every part of his body sizzling with heat. His head fell back against Oliver’s shoulder as he legs turned to jelly, his brain whiting out for several moments as the most intense orgasm he’d ever had ripped through his body. It surged into a wave, washing him away, with a smaller wave following just behind, feeling like it might knock him from his feet.

When he came back to himself a few moments later he was lying on the bed, and Oliver was taking the blindfold off his eyes. He didn’t remember coming over here, and he felt slow and fuzzy, like his whole body was full of tv static.

‘Well done pet,’ murmured Oliver as he placed the blindfold down on one of the tables, ‘Sit up when you can and drink some water.’

He would have nodded, but his head felt like it was full of cotton wool, and it took him a few moments to move into a sitting positon to take a long drink of water from the glass that Oliver had placed on the bedside table. He didn’t know why he was so thirsty, but his mouth was dry.

‘Steady, pet,’ said Oliver as he slopped some down his chin. His voice was now back to normal; not as deep as it had been when directing the scene, with the cadence he recognised as his normal Oliver. He could only nod gently in acquiescence.

He puddled back down onto the bed after he’d drunk his fill. He felt tired and utterly sated, his mind blank of everything except this wonderful feeling of calm.

‘Sleep now pet if you need,’ said Oliver, putting a blanket over him, ‘I’ll be right here.’

That was all he needed to hear; he trusted Oliver completely. He wouldn’t leave him. He’d be here, looking over him. He smiled softly, his breathing slow and calm, as his eyelids flickered closed.


End file.
